


Sacrifice

by threedragons



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Jonerys, Plot Twist, Resurrection, Slow Burn, another resurrection fic who wouldve seen it coming, except not really, just trying to make sense of a nonsensical season, mad dany
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-05-12 06:25:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 41,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19223461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threedragons/pseuds/threedragons
Summary: Five years after her death, Daenerys returns to Westeros, ruthless and with a vengeance. This time, the iron throne is not her only motive.





	1. Prologue

\- PROLOGUE - 

A room of marble, lit only with the flames of torches surrounding a single stone table. The night was silent apart from the wringing of cloth, the soft trickling of blood and water in the washbasin. Embers flew as tufts of silver hair fell into the fire, engulfed by the flame. 

A corpse lay on the table, naked and pale. A porcelain doll in a room of stone and fire.

The priestess spoke gently. A hushed murmur of High Valyrian, a soft chanting that danced with the flame. She stopped. 

The flames stood still. A silence flooded the room and for a moment it felt as if time would stand still as well. The night was quiet.

And then it wasn’t.


	2. Winterfell

\- WINTERFELL - 

“Spring is upon us, your Grace.”

“How do you know?” Sansa asked.

Sansa was shuffling through the letters in front of her. So many asked for assistance, for help through the winter, she could hardly reply to them all. Once more she signed the letter from the queen in the north, rolled up the paper, and sealed it shut. She watched as the wax cooled, then handed it to the old maester. 

He took the scroll from her. “The snows are fewer, shorter. I believe I felt a drop of rain today.”

“Is that so?,” the queen asked, “Have the farmers ready the crops. We’re losing too many of our people to starvation, the sooner we can supply more food to the commonfolk, the better.”

“At once, your Grace,” The maester turned and left with his instructions. The doors closed behind him.

Now the room was empty, save for the two northern guards posted at the door. Sansa remembered the many feasts held in this very room. Walls once filled with the warmth of laughter and the comfort of family. Now, aside from meetings with maesters and common folk, it was almost always empty. 

Sansa took a seat on her throne. A wooden throne, carefully carved out of ancient wood. The years hadn’t been kind to the varnish, and splinters began to emerge, prickling her hands. A wave of sadness washed over her as she gazed down at the carvings of wolves beneath her palm. _There must always be a Stark in Winterfell_ , she thought, _but must that Stark be so alone?_

For years she had spent the lengths of her days in that room. Meeting after meeting, the years seemed to pass like a winter storm. 

The door to the great hall opened once again. This time the winter winds carried in a flock of black cloaks. The brothers of the night’s watch entered and kneeled before their queen. Sansa gave them a nod of respect. 

“I hope the journey wasn’t unkind,” she started, “The cold on the roads has been unforgiving, as of late.” 

One of the brothers spoke, “We aren’t unaccustomed to the cold, your Grace.”

At that she smiled. She started again to speak but noticed the brothers had not come alone. Behind them stood a half dozen men, dressed in fur with disheveled hair and beards. Wildlings. She looked down the line of men in front of her, they were all strangers to her. All except one.

“Jon,” she uttered. Relief washed over her. It had been years since she’d last seen him. He looked older. His beard was slightly patchy and his face was muddy, but it was Jon. A warm smile spread across her face and she stood to embrace her brother. They held each other and, for a moment, Sansa let herself feel the comfort of family again. When she pulled away, however, he would not meet her eyes.

\+ 

Jon sipped at the bowl of hot soup in his hands, burning his lips slightly with the broth. He didn’t mind. He relished in feeling heat again. It had been a long journey to Winterfell, and he had never felt a winter so unforgiving. The feast, if you could call it that, seemed to reanimate his brothers as well. They had spent several fortnights surviving only on berries and what little rabbits they could find. Now they reveled in cabbage stew, bread, and ale, scarce as it seemed.

“It’s not much,” he heard his sister say, “I wish we had more to give.”

Jon picked at the seeds baked into the bread in his hands. “It’s enough,” he said, looking down, “Thank you.”

He could feel her eyes on him, but he couldn’t bring himself to meet them.

“You’re always welcome at Winterfell, brother,” she said, “but why did you come? Last I heard, you had gone north of the wall.”

Tormund answered from beside Jon, “We had to. There’s no more food.”

Sansa looked startled. 

“It was the white walkers,” he explained, “what little life they left over, must’ve been lost to the cold over the years. There’s nothing left to hunt.”

“Nothing at all?”

“Not enough to feed hundreds,” the usually big, cheerful man looked somber, “We had to choose: leave our home, or starve in it.”

Jon gave Tormund a sad smile. Part of him felt it was his fault. The freefolk had chosen Jon to lead them, and he had failed. They had lost dozens to starvation, and dozens more to the bitter cold of the true north. For years, they looked to him for a guidance he could not provide. _I promised to protect them_ , he thought, _how do I protect against starvation?_ He wanted to help them, unite them. To be half the man Mance Rayder once was. The king beyond the wall. Instead, he felt like a boy, distant and drowning in memories. Wherever he went, the past followed like a shadow.

_Be with me._

He jolted upwards on the bench, trying to shake the memory. He glanced around him, hoping no one had noticed his absence. 

“I can give good land to you and your people,” Sansa said, “But I can’t promise they will be well fed. Our supplies are dwindling. The Battle of Winterfell left us wildly unprepared for a five year winter. I fear for us all if spring doesn’t arrive soon.”

“Thank you, your Grace,” Jon said. He allowed himself to meet her eyes for the first time that day. His sister was once a scared, young girl. Now, a queen sat opposite him. A crown of two wolves perched atop her head. He wished he could think of her as a stranger. Instead, when he looked at her, betrayal coursed through his veins. 

He was in Winterfell after all, at home with family. Yet within these walls, across from his sister, he had never felt more like a bastard. 

“Have you heard from Arya?” Jon asked. He hoped his youngest sister could bring him some feeling of familiarity. 

“I’ve heard whispers she’s returned to Westeros, but I don’t know where. She hasn’t written,” she replied.

Jon tried to mask his indifference, but he knew his sister would see through it. Soon, the halls filled with the laughter of men. Torch flame replaced the flame of the setting sun as night approached.

The men around them had stood, trading stories in a loud chorus of voices. Ale spilled as drunken men bumped into each other. This was the Winterfell Jon had remembered, surrounded by the warmth of friendship and family, but it didn’t feel the same now. The last time he had been here felt like a lifetime ago. When the freefolk surrounded him in celebration, cheering their king for leading them to victory against the army of the dead. He turned, as he had then, and glanced at the end of the table. The memory made his heart swell. The past smiled back at him, as she once had, from that night years ago. He could feel her eyes on him, ice blue eyes ablaze with the fire of love and admiration. Although his memory was foggy, her smile shone through it like a torch in the night. But the chair was empty. Her absence began to suffocate. For a moment, it felt as if the room was caving in, the walls creaked and moaned as they grew smaller. Rubble fell from the ceiling as the room collapsed around him. 

_Be with me._

“Jon?” Sansa’s voice brought him back to the hall. The table had emptied, leaving them alone. 

“Sorry,” Jon replied, “Lost in thought.” He took a sip from the bowl in his hands. 

Sansa looked down, swirling the wine she held. “It’s been years, brother,” she said. She reached across the table and placed a hand on his. “surely you can’t still think of her.” 

His eyebrows creased and he looked up at her. He pulled his hand away. “Of course I do.”


	3. King's Landing

\- KING’S LANDING -

Tyrion stomped through the halls, the sound of his footsteps on tile drowned out by the voices coming from the council room. They had been at it all morning, bickering loudly and stupidly. Tyrion could hear them from his chambers. As he approached the room, their voices grew more distinct.  
“Are you listening to yourself? You sound bloody mad!”

“I’m right and you know it. The last sept was named after the man who ordered it’s construction.” 

“That man was a king. And what makes you worthy of having a sept named after you?”

“It was my idea,” the ex-sellsword sat in the farthest chair from the door, his feet crossed on the table. 

Davos turned to Tyrion as he entered the room. “Thank the gods you’re here. Talk some sense into this one, would you?” 

“Ay, he’ll agree with me,” Bronn said, “We start construction on the Great Sept of Bronn in a fortnight.”

“The Great Sept of Bran,” Davos corrected him, “No that doesn’t sound right. Great Sept of Bran the Broken?”

Tyrion sighed and made for his chair at the head of the council table. His head was pounding. Too much wine, or perhaps he had slept askew in his bed the night before. Whatever the case, the years had not been kind to him. With each passing year, he felt a century older. His council did not make things easier, and on days like today, he wondered if he was cut out for rule. 

“It will not be named the Sept of Bronn,” Tyrion said as he took a seat. He massaged the back of his neck, trying to relieve some of the pain.

“Thank you,” Davos started.

“It won’t be named after King Bran either. It won’t be named anything, because it will not exist.” Tyrion poured himself a glass of wine from the pitcher on the table. 

Bronn rolled his eyes. “And why is that?”

“The people have their own, new places of worship. Less grand, of course.” Tyrion took a swig of wine. “The population is growing. New people bring new and different religions. One place of worship built for one religion won’t work in the new world. Either way, we can’t afford it.”

“I’m the master of coin. If I say we can afford it, we can afford it.” Bronn said. He plucked a grape from the centerpiece and tossed it in his mouth.

“Perhaps if the master of coin paid more attention to the coin, and less attention to the brothels, he would know how in debt the city is,” Tyrion said.

They were silent for a moment. 

“What about the iron bank?” Davos asked.

“Don’t get me started on that,” Tyrion said. He took another, larger swig of wine.

Maester Tarly entered, the chains around his neck rattling, signaling his entrance. “A little early for wine isn’t it?” He asked the hand.

“Not for me,” Tyrion responded, “What news?” 

Sam seemed afraid to answer. He fidgeted with the scroll in his hand. “It’s the Iron Islands, I believe our fears of rebellion have come true.” 

Tyrion pinched the skin between his brows. He knew this news would arrive, sooner or later. His inexperienced council could barely govern their own city, let alone six kingdoms. 

“What makes you say that?” he asked.

“There’s been reports of raids on the villages near Deepwood Motte,” the maester replied.

“Send for Yara Greyjoy,” Tyrion said, “We will discuss their independence face to face. There’s no need for war.” 

“At once,” Sam said. He started away but turned back, “Oh, I forgot to mention. Your visitors have arrived.”

+

The Prince of Dorne arrived with two dozen men, each of them dressed in their finest garments, as the Dornish typically were. They approached Tyrion as he stood in front of the entrance to the Red Keep.

“Prince Areo,” Tyrion extended a hand, “Good to see you again, friend. I hope your journey was fair.”

The prince shook his hand. Tyrion turned and started up the steps. Areo followed. They stepped over bricks and rubble until they had found their way into one of the castle’s many corridors. “Apologies for the construction,” he said as he stepped around a builder laying tiles on the floor in front of him.

“Should it be taking this long?” Areo asked. His men followed close behind. 

“We’ve run into some money issues, as of late. The first years after, I thought it best we rebuild the common areas of the city first in order to house more citizens. Anyway, the keep wasn’t built overnight. The rebuild won’t be either.” 

“Is that your job now? Tyrion the Builder?”

Tyrion chuckled. “More like master of sewage, in charge of cleaning up everyone’s shit.”

The prince laughed. “What’s that old saying? The king shits-“

“-and the hand wipes, yes. However, it’s a queen’s shit I’ve been cleaning up for five years.” They went silent. Mention of that day always seemed to put a damper on the mood. 

The prince stopped. “I did not come all this way for small talk.”

“You Dornish never do,” Tyrion sighed, "What can I do for you?”

“I need to speak with the king.”

“I’ll take you to him. There is however, one small problem.”

+

King Bran sat in the corner of his chambers as Tyrion and Prince Areo entered. His chair was angled, facing the center of the room. A single fur throw lay over his lap. His skin remained youthful, not one wrinkle had creased the young king’s face. When Tyrion closed the chamber doors behind him, the king did not react. These days, he sat as still as stone, barely breathing, eyes white as snow.

“How long has he been like this?” the prince asked.

Tyrion poured himself a drink. “Oh I don’t know, say, three years.”

“Three years?” Areo did not try to mask his disbelief. “You mean to tell me the realm has been without a king for three years?“

"I am doing my best to rule in his absence,” Tyrion replied. He didn’t know what else he could say. It had started as a few trips. The king would remove himself from council meetings once or twice. When asked where he had gone, Bran would state there were matters across the sea he must keep his eye on. The trips got longer and more frequent until one day, he didn’t return. 

Tyrion took a sip from his wine goblet. “Come, we’ll speak elsewhere.”

\- WINTERFELL - 

Winter was over. The news had arrived that morning from the citadel.

The promise of spring hung in the air over Winterfell. Hope spread faster than fire, for they had survived the winter. It hadn’t been the longest winter on record, but it had been the most grueling. Now, as the sun beamed through the clouds, the people walked cheerily through the grounds of the castle. Laughter rang through the air as Sansa crossed the ramparts, watching as children below played in the melting snow. She allowed herself to smile, to feel hope for the first time in years. 

From the corner of her eye, she noticed her brother walking beneath her. “Jon!” she called to him, but he did not hear. She started to follow him.

By the time she reached the bottom of the stairs, she had lost sight of him. 

She heard children shriek. She turned and saw that Ghost had approached the kids playing in the snow, towering over them.   
“Leave them be, Ghost,” the queen called out, as she approached, “Don’t be scared, he won’t hurt you.” 

The youngest girl reached to pet the direwolf and the children giggled. When Sansa turned, she noticed the door to the crypts were ajar. 

She found him down there, as she had presumed. He stood still, alone in the dark. She had expected him to be at their father’s grave, but it was Lyanna he stood in front of.

“Aunt Lyanna,” she said as she approached him. 

“My mother,” he corrected. 

She looked up at the woman in front of them. She tried to imagine the resemblance between her and Jon, but she knew the stone carving would not have done her justice. 

Jon was holding something, she noticed. He turned it between his fingers. In the dim light of the torches, she struggled to make out what it was. It was small and metal, she noted three small dragon heads. A hair pin.

Jon noticed her watching and tucked the pin away. 

Sansa looked down, picking at the seams of her dress. “You never talked about her.” 

“I never knew her,” he replied.

“I’m not talking about your mother,” Sansa said. 

She could see Jon’s jaw clench at the mention of her. His eyebrows furrowed. She wondered if tears were pooling in his eyes, or if it was just the light. 

“It doesn’t matter now,” he said.

“Of course it matters,” she said, “You’ve barely spoken since you arrived.”

“I don’t want to talk,” he said. It was then she noticed how tired he looked. His eyes were glassy and dark, his hair unkempt. 

“Jon,” she said softly, “You are my brother, and I know it’s not easy-“

“How could you know?” he interrupted, “You got what you wanted didn’t you?”

Sansa paused, taken aback by the venom in his voice. His eyes were cold.

“What is that supposed to mean?” she asked. He didn’t respond.

She started to speak again, but he interrupted her. “Be quiet,” he said.

His eyes were not on her, but on the door to the crypts. It was then that she heard it. The clashing of steel on steel. Men shouting. Horses running. The sounds of battle rang from above them. 

“Get down,” Jon said, “Hide.” He grabbed her arm and pulled her behind a statue.

“What’s happening?” she asked. He shushed her. She heard voices, but couldn’t make out what they were saying. A woman screamed. Footsteps grew louder as they approached the door. She held her breath, her heart pounding. Jon stood and drew his sword. The sharp unsheathing of valyrian steel pierced her ears. For a moment, it was silent. 

The door opened.


	4. The Council

\- KING’S LANDING -

The council meeting had only lasted a half hour before Tyrion reached for the pitcher of wine in the center of the table. He had made a promise to himself that he would get through one meeting sober. He broke that promise. _No one can rule without help_ , he tried to convince himself.

“I mean no disrespect,” Bronn interrupted Tyrion’s thoughts, “but why is he here?”

“Prince Areo has promised to help us with the rebuild of King’s Landing, in exchange we will begin the discussion of Dornish independence.”

“Ay, I wasn’t talking about him,” Bronn said. He gestured towards the end of table, where King Bran sat perched in his chair. Milky white eyes peered over the council. 

“The king should attend all council meetings,” Tyrion said, he smiled as if he’d made a joke, “I don’t know if he can hear us. If he can it’ll spare me the trouble of filling him in later.” 

Bronn looked back at the young king, “Gives me the creeps,” he said. 

“Yes well, do your best to ignore him,” Tyrion answered. He took a sip from the goblet in his hands.

“Pardon, my lord, if I take a few steps back, but Dornish independence? Is that the best idea?” Davos asked. 

Prince Areo gave him a look. “Dorne is a prosperous place. Our people work hard and our economy should be thriving, instead we are facing the consequences of a war we took no part in.”

Tyrion eyed Davos. Right now, he needed Dorne’s assistance. He needed their gold. He wondered if perhaps they could reach an agreement. They help rebuild the capital city in exchange for their independence. Maybe the realm would be better off if each kingdom ruled itself. Or maybe not. “A conversation for another time, perhaps.” 

They changed the subject, Brienne cleared her throat to speak. “My lord, I need more men for the city guard.”

Tyrion nodded and placed his goblet down on the table. “Of course, I’ll offer the commonfolk a place in the guard in exchange for fair pay. We’ll need all the help we can get.” 

Brienne nodded.

“How are our defenses coming along?” Davos asked.

“Fair. What we lack in numbers we are making up in construction,” Brienne said, “The walls of the city have been reconstructed and reinforced, along with the north gate.” 

“What of the scorpions?” Tyrion asked.

“We have half a dozen on the walls and more in production.”

The prince of Dorne leaned forward in his chair. “Scorpions?” 

“No one has seen Drogon in years,” Tyrion said. He looked down at the palm of his hands, picking at a stray flake of skin in the center. Perhaps the scorpions were an expense they could live without, but he had witnessed firsthand the destructive path of a seething dragon. “Better to be safe than sorry.”

The council startled at the sound of Sam entering. He knocked over a tray of metal goblets near the door and they clanged against the tile floor. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he said. He bent frantically to pick up each of the goblets before they could roll from his grasp. 

“What is it, Sam?” Tyrion asked.

The maester fidgeted with a raven scroll in his hands. “I.. I bring grave news,” he stuttered, “from Winterfell.”

+

When Sansa woke, her mind was a blur. The first thing she became aware of was the ground moving underneath her. She could hear the trotting of horses, the subtle creak of wooden wheels. The cart had no windows, leaving her enveloped in darkness, save for a sliver of light slicing through a gap of wood on the roof. Looking towards the light made her head throb in pain. She couldn’t remember what happened in the crypts, everything had been so dark, so fast.

She reached for her head in pain and realized her hands had been bound with rope, her dress ripped and muddied with dirt and blood.  
When she touched a finger to her head, she winced as blood trickled from a cut near her temple.

She wondered how long it had been. Her mouth was dry as sand, her throat prickling with every breath. 

Something shuffled from the opposite end of the wagon. As her eyes adjusted, she could make out Jon in the darkness. He was slumped over, his hands bound. Sansa could see a bandage wrapped around his right leg, soaked in blood that had dried black. He was asleep, his head swayed with every bump in the road. Grasped in his hands, she noticed, was the dragon pin.

+

It had taken Yara Greyjoy nearly two fortnights to arrive in the capital city. Tyrion had grown impatient, furious even. He would not give her the benefit of meeting in the council room. Instead, he awaited her where the iron throne once stood. In it’s absence, atop the short flight of stairs, was a single wooden bench. Tyrion could not bring himself to sit, however. There had been no word from the north following the attack on winterfell. No word of the queen. His footsteps echoed through the towering walls as he paced back and forth. King Bran sat behind him. “King” was a loose term, for he was more like a statue these days. A symbol. The thought of his absence filled Tyrion with even more rage. Again, he was left alone to piece together a war-torn country.

When the doors opened, she entered alone. She appeared indifferent, stepping leisurely towards the foot of the stairs. Her eyes wandered to the walls, to the magnificent stain-glass windows that stretched from floor to ceiling. 

“Love what you’ve done with the place,” Yara said as she approached the hand.

Tyrion was beyond formalities. “I would have been open to the discussion of independence, had you asked.” 

“I have asked, many times,” she replied. 

“Where is Queen Sansa?” Tyrion demanded. He noticed his fist was clenched in anger, his knuckles turning white. 

“How would I know?” 

“I could’ve overlooked a few rebellious village raids,” Tyrion seethed, “I draw the line at ambushing cities of innocents. Did you learn nothing from when your brother took Winterfell?” At Tyrion’s age, war felt like a child’s game. Someone was always bickering, fighting amongst themselves rather than working through conflicts with peace. And he grew tired of parenting. 

Yara seemed lost for words. The color had drained from her face and she began to stutter. “My people didn’t raid villages. I never attacked Winterfell.” 

“Don’t play a fool,” he hissed, “The queen was taken captive at your command, why? Did you intend to use her for ransom? Is this rebellion that important to you?”

“I’m serious, Tyrion,” her voice was raised now. Tyrion could sense a hint of desperation in her words. “I didn’t attack Winterfell. My people are on Pyke.” 

Her words hung in the air of the hall. Tyrion took a step back, his eyes trailing to the floor. He had not expected this response. 

“If you didn’t-“ he started.

“Someone else did,” she said. 

From the throne room, they heard a single bell ring from the streets below. More joined and soon a chorus formed, piercing through the air like a knife through flesh. Tyrion met Yara’s eyes and his own fear reflected back at him. Bells rang for a city under siege. 

For the first time in years, Bran’s eyes opened.


	5. Dawn of a New Day

\- KING’S LANDING -

The sun had nearly set behind the horizon, lighting the city aflame with a blaze of orange light as it went. The air was utterly still, the sky cloudless. From atop the walls of King’s Landing, the stars began to glimmer like flecks of snow in the sky. The city below lay motionless. If Tyrion shut out the noise, it could almost seem as if all was at peace. The bell tower to the right of him began to chime once again. It rang through his ears, mirroring a sound he had heard too often in his nightmares.

The commander of the Kingsguard was frantic, yelling out orders to her amateur soldiers. They were greatly unprepared, men tripped over themselves and scrambled along the walls of the city as they rushed to man the defenses. Tyrion hurriedly made his way to where the top of the walls met the city’s north gate. Men bumped into him as he passed, one nearly striking his head with the nock of his bow. 

Davos caught up with him. “My lord, I-“

“Find the King,” Tyrion said. “Get him to his chambers. Bar the doors and don’t let anyone in.” 

“At once,” he turned and left.

Bronn and Brienne stood overlooking the walls as Tyrion climbed the steps to meet them. With each step, his fear grew greater as the enemy was better brought into view. He reached the top and looked out. When he saw them, the fear pitted in the bottom of his stomach. 

The unsullied stood firmly in uniform rows, their spears and shields held tightly. Their numbers sprawled across the grounds outside the city. A thousand immaculate statues, cold and unmoving. So many so, that the soldiers farther away seemed to disappear into the darkness. In the dead center, their commander. He was a great lengths away, but Tyrion could feel his stare was fixated on him. He could recognize him, even from a distance, from the firmness of his stance. Grey Worm.

With him, Tyrion noticed, was the queen of the north. Her hands were bound, long, red hair tangled and disheveled. And beside her, someone Tyrion hadn’t heard of in years. Jon Snow stood, his head bowed, hands and feet tied. 

The bells continued. Each toll rang a jolt of pain through Tyrion’s ears. He tried to swallow away the lump that had formed in his throat. 

Bronn spoke over the ringing. “What in seven hells are they doing here?”

Brienne turned to Tyrion, ignoring the sellsword's question. “We don’t have their numbers, but my men are good and strong, my lord. They’ve sworn to fight for this city, and they will.”

“The gate and walls will hold,” Bronn said from the other side of him. “They’re brand new. We’ll win this battle if we can keep them on the other side of the wall.”

Tyrion paused. “No.”

They both turned to look at him as he spoke again, “No, we will not win this battle, because there will be no battle,” he spoke through gritted teeth, “I have had enough of the fighting.”

Brienne opened her mouth to speak, but Tyrion started again. “Get word to Grey Worm. Why he’s here, whatever he wants, we will discuss.”

Brienne nodded and turned to leave.

“Ser Brienne,” Tyrion turned, calling to her before she could go, “tell your men to stop ringing those bloody bells before I go mad.”

He turned back to Bronn.

“Good of you to want peace,” the master of coin said. “But by the looks of it, those men out there would rather have your head on a spike.” 

“This country has suffered enough senseless violence,” Tyrion said. He turned to face him. “There will be no bloodshed today.”

A soft breeze blew at the tufts of Tyrion’s hair as he gazed out into the night. Within minutes, the ringing had stopped. For a moment, he was relieved for the silence.

The silence, however, had soon been replaced by an eerie, unsettling sound. Tyrion had remembered little to no wind that night, and yet a chill swept through the air. Almost beyond earshot, and near silent, soft gusts of wind echoed in the distance. He strained to hear over the phantom ringing the bells had left in his ears, but he could not place the sound.

Tyrion looked out at the horizon. Moonlight had replaced the warmth of the setting sun and cast the ground with a thousand shadows of the men below him. His eyes flickered to a hint of motion above the statuette army. He squinted. The sky had grown dark, but darker so, a pair of jet black wings.

They were so distant, for a moment Tyrion wondered if he was seeing a far away crow. But the wings grew in size as they neared, kicking up winds from miles away. 

Eyes wide with fright, Tyrion turned rapidly to Bronn, who matched his fear.

“ _Get to the scorpions!_ ” Bronn yelled, “ _Load the scorpions!_ ” 

Men scattered, frantically, to the ballistas nearest to them. Panic ensued as soldiers shouted and ran, hurrying to load the weapons lining the walls. 

Tyrion felt his body go cold. His gaze could not break away from the figure looming in the distance. With every passing second, it felt as if time was speeding up. Men rushed past him. Every scorpion they had was fully loaded and nocked. 

_It’s not enough_ , he thought. 

Drogon grew closer, his black wings sparkled with a touch of moonlight. 

_A dragon without a rider is easier to hit_ , Tyrion tried to assure himself. His palms were clammy, a single bead of sweat trickled down his face. He thought of the thousands that lived in the city behind him. How quickly their lives would end in fire.

“ _Aim!_ ” Bronn yelled, before the dragon could come closer. He would reach them in minutes.

“ _Fire!_ ”

Almost as commanded, fire rained from the skies above them. 

The scorpion nearest Tyrion exploded in fire first, wood splintering and flying in all directions. Men screamed as flames swallowed them. Bronn had run to Tyrion, shielding him from the blast. The smaller dragons fell from above, two dark silhouettes in the moonlight. The shadows of their wings sprawled along the city walls. One by one, the scorpions were engulfed in dragon fire, flames slicing through the darkness of the night.

Drogon roared. A rumble thundered across the ground as he neared the outskirts of the city. In the years since he’d been gone, he had nearly doubled in size. Tyrion struggled as he stumbled to his feet, the walls ablaze around him. 

He watched, helpless, as the black dragon’s jaws opened. With a deep growl, the city’s main gate erupted in dragonfire. The blast knocked Tyrion off his feet and he was thrown backwards, crashing his head into the stone bricks of the city walls. 

The world went black.

+

When he came to, pain jolted through the back of his skull. His back was stiff, hands and feet bound in metal cuffs. Tyrion pressed his forearms to the damp floor below him in order to sit up on the stone. A single torch was lit, anchored on the wall opposite him. He recognized the room. He was not unfamiliar to the dungeons of the Red Keep.

He tried to remember how many cells had been left standing before, and how many would be full now. His stomach sank as he thought of what would happen to those they didn’t have room for.

Light shone from the end of the hallway as the wooden door creaked open. The dungeons filled with the sounds of boots on stone. The door to Tyrion’s cell swung open, kicking up dust with a loud bang. Unsullied soldiers filled the room, grabbing him by his arms and pulling him to his feet. He struggled to keep up as they dragged him into the hallway, his chains rattling as he went.

Tyrion wanted to object, but he was tired of fighting.

+

Dawn had begun to reach the city. A dark orange light danced across the rubble of the Dragonpit. The promise of morning left a thin, white mist suspended just above the ground. In the distance, pillars of smoke rose from where the city’s main gate once stood.

The prisoners were shuffled forward into the center of the pit. Tyrion stepped wearily, the pain in his head increasing with every move. He looked up at the row of prisoners around him. Yara, Bronn, Brienne, Maester Tarly, Prince Areo, Davos, and Sansa stood in chains, each of them guarded by soldiers. His eyes stopped on Jon Snow. Each of them had looked ailing and exhausted, but Jon especially so. It appeared as if he had been wounded. Dried blood streaked down a dirty bandage on his leg. His eyes were sunken in, the bags beneath them dark and prominent. His face was a blotchy red, as if he had just been crying. Tyrion knew each of the prisoners dealt a great burden in the years since they had last been united, however Jon Snow wore his grief heavier than all their chains combined.

His eyes met Sansa’s. She was as beautiful as ever, ice blue eyes combating fiery red hair. He gave her a soft smile, but she met his gaze with fear. He started to speak, but her eyes flickered to the opposite end of the pit. 

Tyrion turned to see what was left of the city guard, lined and shackled, their faces covered in ash and blood. Grey Worm stepped in front of the prisoners. His hands were crossed behind his back, his eyebrows creased. His eyes met Tyrion’s. 

“The new world can not be built whilst the old world remains standing,” the commander said. His voice echoed through the morning mist, dark and emotionless. 

“Because of your loyalty to the old world, I hereby sentence you to die,” His gaze was fixated on Tyrion, but he turned to the kingsguard behind him. 

Brienne rattled in her chains. “You can’t,” she said, “They were only following orders.” She tried to fight, but the chains restricted her. 

A dragon roared from above. In the pale light of the morning, three dragons soared over the dragon pit. The largest of them descended. Drogon’s wingspan had grown, the tips of his ebony wings stretched to each end of the pit. He swooped down, slicing through the remaining kingsguard with a blaze of fire. 

Brienne sunk to her knees as her men screamed. The rest of the prisoners were forced to watch in horror as the kingsguard were reduced to ashes in front of them. Tyrion looked to the people next to him. Sansa’s eyes welled with tears of anger. Tyrion tried to shield his eyes from the burning men in front of him, a lump forming in his throat.

The last man’s final scream hung over the air like a ghost. The fires began to dwindle, leaving a path of black ash across the dirt of the pit.

“ _You promised me peace_ ,” Tyrion said through gritted teeth, “Years ago, _you promised me peace._ ”

Grey Worm stepped forward to face the Hand in his chains, his face remaining solid as stone. “I did.”

A figure began to emerge through the flames. Arms of fire grasped at their feet as their boots stepped across a field of ash and bone. They were dressed in black from head to toe, camouflaging them in tufts of smoke. Tyrion squinted into the darkness. The thick smoke had enveloped the pit, burning his eyes and dulling his sight, but one thing was as clear as the flame of the morning sun.

A long, thick braid of silver hair.


	6. The Choice

The Choice

The breath caught in Sansa’s throat as the dragon queen grew near. Each step like a twist of a knife in her lungs. Silence had engulfed the Dragonpit, hovering in the air like a fog, thick with shock. She climbed the steps to the center of the pit, embers swarming around her. Her outfit was black as night, with a reddish sheen where the morning light hit. Atop her intricate silver braid sat an obsidian crown of sharp dragon wings.

When she reached the prisoners, she looked up and eyes of fire met Sansa’s. Her stomach sank.  
_It’s not possible_ , she thought. The rest of the prisoners matched her shock, as no one could utter a word. Fear and disbelief silenced them all.

Beside her was a woman, in a blood red dress and cloak. She was the first to break the silence. “You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, Mother of Dragons, the Princess Who Was Promised, and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.” 

Sansa was the first of the prisoners to speak. She felt the words come out before she could pull them back. “You can’t just burst in and make yourself Queen,” her words were angry, but weakened with fear.

“I can,” Daenerys said. A dragon roared in the distant skies. Tyrion gave Sansa a warning glance. 

“Where is Bran?” the new queen asked the commander of her army. Her voice was level and composed. Her calmness invoked a fear in Sansa more than anger could.

“In his chambers,” Grey Worm answered, “We’ve secured the doors.”

“Good.”

Sansa turned her eyes to her brother, who had not yet spoken a word. He was motionless, fixated on the new queen. His eyes were bloodshot, and began to tear as his lower lip trembled. 

“Escort the prisoners back to the dungeons,” Daenerys said. 

As she turned to go, Jon spoke. “How?” he uttered, so quietly she barely heard him.

Daenerys stopped in her tracks at the sound of his voice, her head turning ever so slightly in Jon’s direction. Sansa’s fear pooled in her stomach, as if suddenly remembering what her brother had done. But Daenerys continued on without a glance, and they watched as she disappeared from the Dragonpit like a phantom dissolving into the mist.

+

Jon knew he must be dead. He had imagined the afterlife before. Though he had been dead once and had seen nothing but darkness, he imagined his own personal heaven. If the heavens existed, she would welcome him. Her arms outstretched, her eyes warm and forgiving. Now, however, he sat in the darkness of the damp prison cell, awaiting whatever punishment she deemed fit. This wasn’t heaven, he thought, so he must be alive.

Then so was she. 

Jon sat with his eyes closed, as if not to disturb the last image of her in his head. Engrained in his mind before, was a picture of her corpse, pale and lifeless. He had held her in his arms, his vision fuzzy from the tears in his eyes. Now, it was her in the Dragonpit. Alive. She stood in front of him, her voice as soft as the breeze that blew through her hair. For a moment he wondered if he had been hallucinating. He had imagined her before. Sometimes he swore he saw her standing through the wisps of trees north of the wall, or heard her laughter in the winter wind. A grieving mind could envision all sorts of things. 

They had moved the prisoners to a larger, shared cell. Loud bickering interrupted his thoughts. They confirmed that this time, she hadn’t been a hallucination.

“She’ll kill us all,” Bronn said.

“Then why hasn’t she done it yet?” Sansa asked. Jon could tell she was trying to restrain herself, but his sister’s eyes were wide with fear. 

“She’s waiting,” Tyrion spoke. Until now, he had been nearly as quiet as Jon. “A public execution says more to the people than killing us behind closed doors.” He sounded exhausted, and almost indifferent, like he had accepted a fate the others were not yet ready to face. 

The door to the dungeons swung open, silencing the cell of prisoners. The red priestess stood in the doorway, escorted by two unsullied soldiers.

“Lord Tyrion,” she said, “May we speak alone?”

He looked down at his hands, toying with the chains on his wrists. “Can I have a drink?”

+

He took a large swig of wine from the goblet in his hands, allowing himself the small pleasure. His hands remained chained, but that didn’t stop him from reaching for the pitcher in the center of the small table. Tyrion refilled his cup as the priestess crossed in front of him.

“We met before, you and I,” she said. She sat in the wooden chair on the opposite end of the table.

“Yes, I remember,” Tyrion said, “Kinvara, was it? You helped restore the peace in Slaver’s Bay.”

She nodded with a subtle smile. Tyrion could hardly remember the last time he saw her, but she hadn't aged a day. Her hair was dark and thick, her face smooth and beautiful. She wore the traditional maroon gown of the priestesses of Volantis.

“Funny,” he started as he took another sip, “I remember you once said you served the people.”

“I do,” she replied.

“How does bringing _her_ back serve the people?” he was angry now. A flush of heat filled his cheeks. Or perhaps it was the wine. 

The high priestess clasped her hands together on the table between them. She leaned forward. “I didn’t bring her back. The Lord of Light brought her back.”

“Ah yes, the Lord of Light,” he said, “Does the Lord of Light know what your queen did?”

“The Lord knows all.”

“So your Lord sat by as Daenerys slaughtered thousands of men, women, and children? As she reduced a city to ash?” 

“Everything that happened, happened because our Lord willed it to be,” she replied. She was so certain, so firm in her belief. Tyrion felt disgust boil inside of him. 

He drank from his goblet, letting the wine begin to dull his senses. “Why?” he asked.

“It’s not my duty to ask questions,” She replied. “My duty is to follow my queen. Daenerys Targaryen will lead the people of the world into a new age. As she was reborn, the new world will be reborn with her.”

“That’s a lovely thought,” Tyrion said sarcastically, his chains rattling against the base of his cup. “I supposed I won’t be around to see it, though.”

Kinvara placed a hand on his. “You mistake our queen. Her path is not that of revenge. She is here to fulfill the destiny the Lord of Light has granted her. Tell the other prisoners Queen Daenerys will spare their lives. They can leave the dungeons, she will provide them their own chambers in the castle. As long as they swear to join her, and help her build the new world."

Tyrion looked up to meet her eyes. “And if they don’t?” 

The candle’s flame between them flickered. He understood.

The priestess stood to leave. "You have until tomorrow."

+

When he delivered the demands, outrage engulfed the small prison cell.

“ _Join_ her?” The Queen in the North was chained to the wall opposite Tyrion, the fury in her voice as fiery as her hair. “She massacred a city of innocent civilians. Children burned at her command. She would’ve killed every person in Westeros if it meant she could sit the throne.”

“Well you didn’t give her much choice did you?” Yara Greyjoy interjected. 

The room turned to look at her. 

“I swore to follow Daenerys Targaryen. I wasn’t there for her before, I’ll be there now,” she said.

“Then you’re just as bad as her,” Sansa spit out. 

“What do you think?” Davos asked the Prince of Dorne, who had been silent through the conversation. 

“Dorne will not kneel to a Mad Queen,” Prince Areo said calmly, “Even if it means my life.” 

“Have you ever felt the heat of dragonfire Prince Areo?” Bronn asked, “I stood next to it once, nearly burned the hair off my head. I don’t plan on standing in it anytime soon.” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Sansa rolled her eyes, “It’s a trap.” 

“How so?” Davos asked.

“You know her well Lord Tyrion,” she said, “How would she treat those who have betrayed her? Jon _killed_ her.” Her brother winced from across the room, not meeting anyone’s eyes. She continued, “How did she treat Varys when she learnt of his betrayal? Would the queen you knew let traitors sit her council?”

Tyrion sighed. “The queen I knew died years ago.” 

The room fell silent, save for the soft drips of water against stone. 

“Perhaps I should speak with her,” Tyrion suggested. 

“With the dragon queen? Are you mad?” Davos asked.

“If what Sansa thinks is true, if it is a trap, we’ll all be dead soon anyways. It’s worth a shot.”

“She’ll kill you on the spot,” Sansa said. “I’ll speak with her.” 

“Absolutely not,” Brienne interrupted, “My Grace I swore to keep you safe, I won’t leave you alone with a killer.”

“Brienne’s right,” Jon spoke for the first time since that morning, “It has to be me.”

They all turned to look at him. 

“Very funny,” Tyrion said.

“It wasn’t a joke,” Jon replied.

“Jon,” Sansa said, “You saw her up there. She’s not the girl you knew. After what you did, you’ll suffer a fate worse than dragonfire.” 

“I already have,” he smiled sadly. 

Tyrion looked at the once-King before him. How consumed with grief did one have to be before their own life meant nothing?

“Think about it,” Jon continued, “Whatever deal this red woman has offered you, do you really think it applies to me as well? No matter what happens, I killed her. What’s the punishment for killing your queen?”

Sansa’s eyes teared. Tyrion spoke before she could, “He’s right.”

+

As Jon stepped through the halls of the Red Keep, he noticed the sun had set. He had spent the day in the dark of the dungeons, unaware of how much time had passed.

Ten unsullied stood perched outside her chambers. When Jon approached, they drew their spears in defense.

“I need to speak with her,” Jon said. He had come alone, escorted by four guards. Davos and Sansa had begged him not to. She wasn’t the same as before, not even the same as that day in the throne room. She was harsh and cold, an eerie, unforgiving stare in her eyes.

“She does not want to see you, _Queenslayer_ ,” one of the soldiers snarled back at him.

“Let him in,” Grey Worm called out from inside the room.

The Unsullied parted to let Jon through, who hesitated before stepping towards the doorway. 

Grey Worm blocked his path. He stepped closer to Jon, so close Jon could feel his breath on him, his piercing eyes black as the night outside. “I should have killed you,” he said. But he stepped aside. 

Jon’s stomach clenched in fear as he stepped through the doorway of her chambers. The moonlight illuminated the room in an icy blue that battled with the orange glow of the crackling fireplace. He had prepared himself to step into the mouth of the dragon, but was taken aback by what he saw. 

He expected to see the Mad Queen, the ruthless tyrant he had seen just that morning. A dragon dressed in black with an ebony crown of sharp wings. Instead, he saw a girl.

Her back was to him. She stood on the balcony, facing the moon and the city below. Her robes were black, yes, but no crown. Her hair was unbraided. It cascaded down her back and blew gently with the breeze.

Jon turned to Grey Worm, “Can we have a moment alone?”

Grey Worm stood firmly in the doorway, cold and unmoving, “You will never be alone with her again."

When Jon turned back, she was facing him. For the first time since that day, her eyes met his. She was just as beautiful as Jon remembered. For years she had existed only in his memory. The image of her face, cold and lifeless, haunted his every dream. Now, in the moonlight, she stood in front of him, a pink flush of life in her cheeks. Familiar blue eyes gazed back at him. Eyes that had once sparkled with warmth and love, now dark and unfeeling. A breeze swept through the room as a chill ran down his spine.

He broke the silence. “The priestess. She brought you back?”

Her brows furrowed and she stared at him, unwavering.

Jon hesitated. Her silence was unforgiving. He took a moment to contemplate his next words. “I know I have no right to ask you this,” he said, “the prisoners you took, what will happen if they refuse your demands?”

“The prisoners will be dealt with the way I see fit,” she said firmly.

“You can’t expect them to follow you. And you can’t just kill them when they don’t. Tyrion, Davos, my sister-“

“They will be dealt with the way I see fit,” she repeated, “Need I remind you that you are also a prisoner. Not a member of my council. I will not heed your advice, nor did I ask for it.”

The girl who once loved and trusted him was gone, her voice now laced with anger, poison seeping through every word. Jon wondered how someone so familiar could feel so distant. The room grew colder.

“They’re more valuable to you alive,” Jon said. “Their people will follow you if you spare their leaders.” 

“And you?” She asked, “Will you ask for your mercy for yourself?” 

He looked down at the floor, afraid that if he thought of that day, he might cry.

“I wouldn’t expect it,” he said, “and I don’t deserve it.”

Her eyebrows furrowed and he could hear her breathing quicken in anger.

“You have every right to hate me. I hate myself for what I did, but-“ he started, but she would hear no more.

She glanced at Grey Worm, gesturing to have Jon removed. The soldiers entered the room and started towards him as she turned, once again, to face the balcony.

“Daenerys,” Jon interrupted, “Talk to me, please. I can help you. I’ve been resurrected before and I know how it feels to come back. It’s cold, and it’s dark, and it’s lonely.”

That made her turn around. The wind kicked up her silver curls.

“I spent a fortnight at Dragonstone,” she said, the glow from the fire dancing across her face, “before we sailed for King’s Landing. It felt like a lifetime.”

She took a step towards him as her gaze met his, dark and unfaltering. “My oldest friend died protecting me. I held him in my arms and watched him die. I couldn’t save him. I watched as thousands of my men rode to their deaths. My children were killed in front of me. I watched my dearest friend, a girl I freed from chains, die… in chains. And I couldn’t protect her.  
And what did I get, from those I had left? I got fear. Fear of what I would do next. My closest advisors turned against me. Varys tried to have me killed. I was grieving. I needed comfort and instead, I got fear. And scheming. Poison and rejection. _That_.. was cold and dark and lonely.”

“I needed you then,” she said quietly. Her voice broke and it looked as if she might cry. For a moment she was back, the girl he had once known, standing in front of him, vulnerable and afraid. But just as soon as she came, she was gone again. Her eyes went cold and distant, “I don’t need you now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys there is a lot of discourse in the comments on this chapter for some reason so i thought i’d clear a few things up!   
> 1\. i have not forgotten what daenerys has done and i’m not excusing it.. be patient please :)  
> 2\. a lot of you are mad that dany won’t just kill everyone. if i did that the story would be over in the next chapter. it would be satisfying for us dany stans but it doesn’t make for a good story  
> 3\. be patient with jon! some of you are saying hes out of character but i think its perfectly in character to be out of sorts after killing the woman you love and watching her come back lol   
> 4\. this is a slow burn story because i love developing a strong plot and characters, if it doesnt make sense immediately thats because i havent gotten to it yet. and it might be long! but please dont leave comments about how you know exactly where its going and its just like every other fic so youre done reading because i promise you its not and you dont know where its going. 
> 
> thanks for being patient and thanks for those who have left kind comments! next chapter out soon :)


	7. A New Tomorrow

_Daenerys’ dreams came nightly, each one more vivid than the last. Her eyes strained to see in the darkness that seemed to have no end. She took a step forward, her feet leading the way into the abyss. Each step made the familiar crunch of a boot on snow. As she continued, it grew colder. Soon, her breath was visible in the air, like smoke from a dragon’s mouth. Ahead of her, a single torch appeared on the wall. She reached for the light, letting it’s warmth guide her. Whispers blew in the winter breeze, threatening to put out the flame. Hush voices surrounded her, swirling like falling leaves in the wind. When she held up the flame, she noticed walls on either side of her, forming a hallway. Looking closer, the walls were made from the roots of an ancient tree. They twisted and coiled through each other, wound tightly to form a large tunnel. When she stepped forward, the roots groaned and shifted, as if she wandered into the belly of a great beast. She continued, the frozen air now numbing her nose and ears as it grew colder yet. Through gaps in the branches of the walls, movement caught her eye just outside the tunnel. The motion continued, running past her like shadows in the torchlight. The pattering of small feet against snow, child’s laughter mixed with the wind.  
Her eyes flickered to her sides, but she did not stop, for she was nearing the end. She stopped in her tracks when she reached a door at the end of the tunnel. The flame in her hand illuminated the wood, painted a dark red. She reached for the handle, cold steel against her fingertips. She tried to turn the knob, but it wouldn’t budge. The red door was locked. Snow flurried around her, swarming her in a fury of icy wind. It grew stronger and thicker, piling at her ankles until finally, the torch blew out._

+

Sansa toyed with the chains on her wrist, rubbing the skin where they had left her bruised and bloody. Everyone in the cell with her had been bickering for hours. She couldn’t remember the last time she had slept. Her back ached and she adjusted herself against the stone. Perhaps if she closed her eyes, she could drift off without anyone noticing.

“Tell you what,” Bronn’s voice shook her awake, “I’d bend the knee to her right now if it meant I could sleep in a bed.”

Tyrion glared at the man in front of him.

“What? She offered us chambers didn’t she?” Bronn said. Sansa wondered how Tyrion could bare to be around someone so insolent. 

“They’ll come soon,” Jon said. He had returned to the cell hours before, and since then, he had barely spoken.

_We’ll all be dead soon_ , Sansa thought. “I won’t kneel to her,” she said aloud.

“You have to,” Jon said. 

She looked at her brother, “I will not condemn the North to serving a tyrant. I will not let my people fall into her grasp.”

“She will kill you.”

“Then let her. I’ll die knowing I rejected the Mad Queen,” she said.

“Seven hells Sansa, would you just listen to me for _once_?” His voice had raised now. Anger bounced off the stone walls around them. “If you say no, she will kill you. Who defends the north when you’re dead? Who protects your people when you’re dead? Your stubbornness won’t just be the death of you, it’ll be the death of every living person in the north.” 

She sat back, startled by his sudden shift.

“He’s right,” Tyrion said.

Sansa turned to look at him, disbelief in her eyes.

“If we die,” he continued, “No one will be left to stop her.”

+

Outside, Sansa held up her hands to shield her eyes from the burning sun. Soldiers forced her and the other prisoners into a single line atop the stairs to the Red Keep. She squinted, forcing her eyes to adjust to the bright light. The commonfolk gathered near the bottom of the steps, huddled together. They were surrounded by unsullied soldiers, fear resonating through the crowd of people. Surely, they had been forced to attend. They waited in silence and fear. The late morning sun beamed down on the city from a cloudless sky. Anticipation weighed down the spring air.

Drogon’s roar boomed through the sky like thunder. The people shrieked, wanting to run, but an unmoving line of soldiers blocked their exits. They waited like fish in a barrel. 

His wings kicked up wind on the ground below him, blowing Sansa's hair from her face. Her ripped dress swayed in the breeze.

The ground quaked when the dragon landed atop the steps. He stretched out his wing, and Daenerys stepped down. She wore a ruby gown, a black cape of dragon scales blew behind her in the breeze. A dragon crown perched atop her silver braids. Slowly, she started down the steps towards the crowd, footsteps echoing through the square. She stopped in the center and looked out at the crowd below her.

“Citizens of King’s Landing,” Daenerys spoke, her voice echoing over the hushed crowd. “Too long you have endured the selfish actions of your leaders. For centuries, the lords of Westeros have turned a blind eye to your suffering. They sit atop their thrones in their ivory towers, while you suffer in the streets below. While they bicker amongst themselves like children, your own children die fighting their wars. When winter comes they feast in their halls alongside the fire, while you starve to death in the snow. Well no more. Today, marks the dawn of a new day. From now on, we will ensure that no child born in the Seven Kingdoms will ever know the suffering that came before them.

These leaders,” she gestured to the line of prisoners behind her, "are too preoccupied with their own petty grievances to care about the people they preside over. But the new world, is a world of mercy. So I have offered them a choice.“

She turned to face the prisoners above her, the faintest hint of a smile on her face. “Join me, and together we will bring the dawn of a new tomorrow. Refuse, and die with yesterday.”

A silence fell over the city. Sansa looked at her brother, who gave her a warning glance. She closed her eyes, her heart pounding in her chest. Reluctantly, she kneeled. One by one, the line of prisoners followed. Daenerys smiled.

"Together, we will build the new world. Together, we will bring the dawn." She turned and gestured at her soldiers. They stood in front of the prisoners, spears in hand. The queen nodded. Sansa flinched away, wincing as the spears came clashing down in front of her with a clang that pierced the air. She opened her eyes and looked down. The chains on her wrists had been broken.

+

Tyrion massaged away a kink in his neck as he sat down in the wooden chair. The bed in his new chambers had been harder than his old one, but a bed nonetheless. On the table in front of him sat a flagon of wine. _How good of her_ , he thought. He poured himself a cup.

The door swung open as the queen entered. The priestess followed behind her, both of them dressed in a dark red from head to toe. 

Daenerys sat down in front of Tyrion and poured her own cup of wine. 

“That was a beautiful speech,” he said as she sat down, “I almost believed it.” 

She looked across at him, eyes bright and blue. “I showed you mercy,” she said softly, a smug hint of a smile lifting the corners of her mouth.

“ _For now_ ,” Tyrion said, “I’ve made mistakes, I’ll own that, but I’m no fool. This act of mercy, how long will it last?” 

She took a sip of her wine. “Until I get what I came here for.”

“And what is that?” He asked.

“The Seven Kingdoms. All of them, united.” 

“And they will never follow you if you kill their leaders.” 

She nodded. 

“And why should I help you? If you’re just going to kill me anyways, that is,” Tyrion asked.

She paused. “It is my destiny to build the new world,” she said, “And I will, no matter the cost. You can help me unite the kingdoms and the people, help me convince them to follow me peacefully,” the smile faded from her lips, “but I will build the new world from the ashes of the old one, if need be.”

She sat back in her chair, holding the cup of wine near her lips. “I don’t believe you’d want that to happen.” 

Tyrion took a swig of his wine, swallowing away the lump that had formed in his throat. He could not watch another city burn. “So we help you. You use us to get what you want, and then you’ll toss us aside like sewage.”

“And then you will know how it feels,” she smiled again, but her smile faded “But it’s not what _I_ want. I was chosen.”

Tyrion glanced at Kinvara, who eyes were fixated on him. “Yes, your Lord of Light chose you,” he said. “Tell me, does he speak to you now? Do you see visions in the flames?” 

His mockery lit a fire in her eyes. “It must be hard for small-minded men like you to understand,” she said, “The only world you know is one where high-born men are in charge, because that is what you have always benefited from. The Lord of Light chose me to build a world that everyone, rich and poor alike, can live peacefully in. Not just you.”

“A touching sentiment,” he paused, leaning forward on the table, “Did your Lord of Light also choose you to massacre a city?”

She reeled, leaning backwards in her chair. 

Tyrion continued. “In your new world, do innocent people burn alive? Do children die screaming? Does your Lord tell you to burn cities to the ground after they've surrendered?”

She closed her eyes, shaking her head as he spoke. For a moment, he thought he had broken her. 

She snapped out of the spell that bound her. When she opened her eyes again, she was composed. 

“Even in death you underestimate your sister,” she said, her voice level, “Perhaps you are a fool.”

The door opened and Grey Worm entered. Daenerys broke her stare to look at her advisor. 

“My queen,” he said, “You were right. The north has declared open rebellion.”


	8. Spring

Tyrion sat opposite his once-King. His young face was solid as stone, blank and emotionless. His eyes were distant, as they always had been before. They met Tyrion’s stare.

“Were you going to warn me?” Tyrion asked him.

“It doesn’t matter, it wouldn’t have changed anything,” Bran replied. His eyes drifted to the room around him. Tyrion had not seen him leave his chambers since the Queen arrived at King’s Landing. His dark brown hair had grown, grazing the tops of his shoulders. 

“Is that what you told yourself when you saw her attack King’s Landing the first time? That warning us wouldn’t have changed anything?” 

Bran blinked at him. “It's hard to explain.” 

“Try,” Tyrion had grown exhausted with the king he had chosen for the people. What a king he had been, aloof and distant as he was now. He resisted the urge to reach for the pitcher of wine on the table nearest him. 

Bran fell silent and Tyrion knew he would be getting no answer from him. He sighed, turning his gaze towards the wine. 

“I have to go,” Bran said. Before Tyrion could object, his eyes flicked white, leaving Tyrion alone in silence.

+

_Daenerys stepped across a great stretch of land, her ankles trudging through a thick layer of fresh fallen snow. Winter winds sliced at her cheeks, numbing the tip of her nose. Snow fell heavy in the air, covering her footsteps behind her. She shielded her face from the snow and she strained her eyes, but she could not see more than an arm’s length in each direction. Though her skin prickled in the frigid storm, she felt a warmth grow inside her. It boiled from within until it radiated just under the skin of her fingertips. She bent, reaching for the snow that had now met her knees. When she touched it, it melted beneath her hand. She reached deeper until she felt the ground meet her palm. With it, the snows stopped. The air stood still and her warmth spread across the field, turning the snow to water. Green grass peered out as the winter was carried away. Sun beamed down on her face. Spring will bloom atop Winter’s grave. She gazed at her hands, how quickly her fire chased away the winter’s storm. As the ground appeared, a path of ash revealed itself, littered with charred bones. She followed. At the end of the path, were her two youngest dragons. They picked at the bones of wolves laid out before them. Further, atop a mountain of burnt carcasses, sat Drogon. He held the largest wolf between his teeth. Spring will bloom atop Winter’s grave._

+

Daenerys watched as the flames kissed the stone walls of the fireplace. The longer she stared, the more her vision blurred. She relished in the feeling of the world slipping out from under her, the heat of the fire kissing her cheeks.

“My queen,” Kinvara said, interrupting her thoughts.

“Come in,” Daenerys turned to the priestess as she entered. The red woman crossed the room, joining her in front of the fire. 

“You’ve been quiet, my queen,” the priestess said. Daenerys looked down at the raven scroll in her hands. It had been signed by every great lord of the north, who refused to bow to their new queen.

Kinvara noticed where her eyes had wandered. “You knew this would happen, Daenerys,” she said. “People are stubborn beings, the northerners especially. But flames will draw out the non-believers from where they hide. Have faith in our Lord’s plan for you. He will guide you to where you need to be.”

Daenerys turned back to the face the flames, the duty of destiny weighing on her shoulders. Her brows creased. “I’m having a hard time understanding him. How can I be sure that what he wants will lead me to where I must go?” 

“You must trust in the Lord, Daenerys. Everything that happens is his will,” Kinvara said, but Daenerys felt uncertain.

“Has he spoken to you again?” the red woman asked her queen.

She nodded. 

“Then you already know what you must do.”

Daenerys twisted the scroll in her hands. “Yes,” she said, “but not yet.” She tossed the scroll in the fire, watching as the flames consumed its words. “Tell Grey Worm to call a council meeting.”

“At once, your grace.” Kinvara turned to leave. 

_Spring will bloom atop Winter’s grave._ A voice hung in the air. Daenerys startled as she heard the words from her dream spoken aloud.

“Did you say something?” She asked the priestess.

“No, your grace,” she smiled at Daenerys, then turned to leave.

+

Jon looked steadily out the window of the council room at the city below. Flashes of smoke billowing from the rooftops of buildings rang through his memory. He shuddered away the thought. He sat at the end of the long council table, surrounded by the other captives. They had been freed, as the Queen’s commander said, but they could not leave the Red Keep. Wherever they went, soldiers escorted them, watching over their every move.

“I spoke with her,” Tyrion said from the chair next to him.

“Did she mention me?” Jon asked. He had spend the night before staring at the ceiling of his chambers. His thoughts drifted, scaring away any prospect of sleep. His conversation with her played over in his mind. How distant she had been, how estranged. Had his own death changed him that much? He couldn’t remember, it felt like another lifetime. 

“No,” Tyrion said, “But if she wanted you dead, she would’ve done so already.” 

“And Bran?” 

“Believe me, your brother is no threat to her,” Tyrion replied.

Jon turned once more to the window as a dragon flew past. Its deep red scales shimmered gold in the sunlight, its wings casting a shadow on the city below. The last time a dragon had flown over King’s Landing, it left a path of corpses in it’s wake. 

The conflict in Jon’s mind battled on. For years, the absence of her hung over him like fog, blanketing the memory of her wrongdoings. Grief suffocated him. Now as he peered out on the city she had once reduced to ash, he wondered again if his actions were justified. In the end, guilt won over both grief and duty. Whether it be for her, or for the people she had killed, Jon could not help but blame himself for the pile of corpses at his door.

“Daenerys blames my sister for the destruction of the city,” Tyrion said in a hushed voice, “She believes Cersei set her up.”

“And did she?” Jon asked.

“What do _you_ think?” Tyrion looked at him, sarcasm dripping through his voice. “The Mad King also imagined enemies where there were none. You heard the people surrender. You watched soldiers throw down their swords.” He took a sip of wine, his gaze drifted as he stared at nothing before him. 

“Maybe she’s right,” Jon said, but he was unsure.

“Of course not,” Tyrion replied, “When you spoke to her, was she as you remembered? Before everything that happened?”

Jon looked down at his clasped hands, unable to answer the question. 

“She lost her people, and her mind with them,” His voice grew sad, then angry again. “Now she’s convinced herself that every horrible thing she does is for some higher purpose. The _Lord_ ’s purpose. A child’s bedtime story if you ask me.”

“If that’s true, then who brought her back?” Jon hadn’t believed the stories the priestesses spread, but he had seen flames erupt from the hands of the red woman. He’d felt his brothers kill him, only to wake again later. Jon had no faith in any gods, but he had seen too much he could not explain.

The chatter of the council hushed as the queen entered the room. She did not take her seat, but stood in front of them, immaculate as her army of stone soldiers. 

“Thank you for joining me,” she said in a steady voice. 

“Did we have a choice?” Sansa asked, but Daenerys had no time for petty chatter.

“The northern kingdom has taken up arms against our cause,” she said, eyes darting to where the former Queen in the North sat.

“I had no part in it,” Jon’s sister looked startled, unknowing of her people’s rebellion. “but of course they won’t follow you. They took back their independence and swore to never follow a southern ruler again. They won’t give up their home to you, not now,“ she spoke confidently to the queen.

“You will convince them to,” Daenerys said.

“My people wanted their independence too,” Yara said, “but they will follow me. And I swore to follow our queen, as did you.”

“Yes I did, but I didn’t condemn my people to this,” Sansa sat back in her chair and turned her eyes to the queen, “And why should I? After what you’ve done, why should I convince them to follow you?” 

“I saved their lives once,” Daenerys said, “You will save their lives now. You will write to every lord in the north, and tell them to swear their allegiance to me. Or there will be no mercy for them.”

Sansa glared at the new queen, but said no more.

“And I swear to you, if you are behind this,” she stepped towards Sansa, towering over her where she sat in her chair, “I will turn your kingdom to ash. I will burn your family alive as you watch, and I’ll burn you last.”

Her words hung in the air as the room fell silent with fear.

“Now leave me, all of you,” Daenerys said. The room emptied in silence, save for the scraping of chairs against stone.

“Not you,” she called to Jon as he passed. He stopped, waiting for the rest of the council to clear the room. He stood in front of her, the silence between them heavy as stone. 

She stepped towards him. “I won’t have you killed, if you’re wondering.” 

Her last words of the meeting played in his mind and his jaw clenched. “No, but you’ll threaten to burn my family alive? Sansa won’t listen to you, you know that?”

“Which is why I won’t have you killed. You’re the only one that can make your sister listen, and she _will_ listen. Or she will die.” She turned away from him, resting her hands on the stone of the balcony.

Anger grew inside Jon, threatening to boil over. “Do you feel no remorse? For anything?” he said to the queen. 

She turned back to him, eyes as sharp as the crown atop her head. “Why should I?”  
“You killed thousands of innocent people, Daenerys,” he said, his voice raising, “You burned a city alive!” 

She shook her head, a huff escaped her lips as if he had said something comical. “After all this time, how can you not see?” 

“They surrendered,” he started, “I know you don’t want to believe it, but they surrendered.” 

“No,” her head continued to shake. Jon noticed a hint of a smile on her lips. Did she know something he didn’t? Or had Tyrion been right? 

“Yes, Daenerys they did-“

“ _No they didn’t_ ,” she snapped. That silenced Jon. Her voice raised over his now, anger seeping through her words. She stepped closer to him, until she had to tilt her head to look up at him. Her eyes peered into his so strongly, he felt as if the floor would crumble beneath him.

“And you?” her voice was quiet, but thick with malice. “Do _you_ feel remorse, Jon?” 

He stared at her, unable to form the words that could explain what he had felt. 

She stepped back as he looked at the ground. Jon could feel her eyes on him, burning through him like fire through snow.

“I’m sorry,” he said gently, all trace of anger drained from his words. He swallowed to stop his voice from breaking. “I’m so sorry.” 

She shook her head. If there were tears in her eyes, she blinked them away.

He stepped towards her. “But you would have done the same thing.”

Her head snapped back to him and she turned around. “How can you say that?” She was angry again. 

“Tell me,” he said, “If I had done what you had, if I had killed those people. If I was as far gone as you were, would you have killed me? Would you have chosen me, over millions of lives?”

Her eyes shone with tears and her once strong voice was frail, “I would’ve chosen you over everyone.” 

“I don’t believe you,” he said, “No matter what you’ve done, you’ve never been that selfish. No matter how much you loved me, you would’ve done the same. To protect the people you swore to protect.”

She shook her head, backing away from him. Her hand wiped a single tear from her cheek, sadness in her eyes quickly turning back to anger. 

He tried to speak again but she started. “You could’ve talked to me. You never even asked me why I did it.”

Jon knew when a battle was lost. His eyes welled with tears. “Then tell me why,” he said, “Why’d you do it?” his voice broke.

Her demeanor seemed to shift before him. “It was a trap,” she said obviously, “The bells weren’t bells of surrender, they were a signal.”

He shook his head in defeat, but she stepped towards him. She looked up at him, eyes wide, a smile on her lips. “Cersei set barrels of wildfire around the city. It was a _trap_. She would’ve killed my people, she would’ve killed _you_. Didn’t you see the barrels? All the flames were _green_ , the _smoke_ was _green_.”

He reeled backwards from her. _The Mad King imagined enemies where there were none_ , Tyrion’s voice echoed through his head. His stomach sank at her words. Her eyes looked up at him, hopeful for his understanding. 

“No, Dany,” he said. Any semblance of hope he bared had left him. He shook his head sadly. “It wasn’t.”


	9. Winter’s Grave

The walls of the throne room had been replaced with grand windows that stretched to the ceiling. Etched in its glass, was a map of Westeros. It sprawled towards the sky where the sun hit it, bathing the room in a mosaic of colors. Jon’s eyes wandered along the intricate details in the glass. Lions, fish, stags, and wolves danced across the colors of the map, balanced in a rainbow of harmony. There was no room for a dragon in the piece that stretched before him. A dragon’s wings, dark as night, would not allow the sunlight through. 

He held up the hair pin to the light, letting the rays of sun sparkle across the two metal dragon heads. Jon ran his thumb along the jagged edge where one head had broken off when he and his sister were taken from Winterfell. He wanted to fix it, but the missing piece was lost somewhere along the King’s Road. 

A wave of sorrow washed over him. Jon had been no stranger to grief, he had lived for years in its home. But he had never known it quite like this. This time, she wasn’t gone. Not all of her. A stranger wore her face like a mask, watching him from behind the eyes he had once loved. It wore her skin like a puppet, parading her corpse around as if to taunt him. It was her voice that spoke to him, her voice that called his name, but they weren’t her words. 

_Every time a Targaryen is born the gods flip a coin_ , Jon thought, _the gods have always been cruel._

In his darkest moments, he wished his coin had landed where her’s had. He longed to dance with the ghosts in his mind; to let delusions and fantasies fill the void inside of him. Instead, he was forced to stand in the face of everything he had lost. The shadow cowered over him even on the brightest of days.

“Jon,” his sister’s voice echoed from across the great room. She stepped quickly, the soles of her shoes clicking against the tile floors. 

When she approached him, she spoke in a hushed tone, so the Unsullied guards could not hear. “We need to talk about this,” she said.

Jon turned to his sister, exhaustion weighing heavy over his words. “We’ll talk later.”

“We need to talk now.” Before he could turn to go, she grabbed his arm, desperation clinging to the cloth of his shirt, “She threatened our home, our _family_. We have to fight this.”

“And how do you intend to fight three full grown dragons? The northern armies will never beat her,” He said.

“I don’t mean on the battlefield.”

He struggled to keep his voice low when he realized what she had meant. “No, Sansa. Enough with the scheming, you’re going to get yourself killed.” 

“I won’t sit by while-“

“Yes, you will,” he interrupted, his voice beginning to echo across the tile floors. “You won’t win, not this time.” She let go of his arm and he turned to leave.

Sansa’s voice called to him again, “These are our people, Jon.”

She couldn’t see the battle that raged in Jon’s mind. Wolves fought dragons, free folk fought north men. When he closed his eyes, he heard the clashing of steel, the howl of wolves and the roar of dragons. But Jon was tired of fighting.

“Please, Sansa. Do what she says,” he said.

+

Meli’s scales shimmered like rubies in the light of the morning sun. His wings sliced through the wind with great speed, despite how large he had become. High above the city he soared, like a cloud of scarlet in the sky.

Daenerys held another piece of goat’s meat in her hands as she leaned over the balcony’s edge. When she threw it, the red dragon dived, snatching it from the air in a cloud of fire.

“Rūklon, your turn, sweetling,” Daenerys called to the youngest dragon, who had perched on an outcrop just below. She was the smallest of the three, with scales as white as winter snow. When she emerged from the shadows of the Red Keep, her white wings gleamed like an oyster’s pearl in the sun.

Dany dropped the raw meat from the balcony, hoping to reach the dragon below. Before she could blink, a streak of red blurred her vision as Meli stole the meat from his sister. Rūklon took off in a fit, great white wings blowing Dany’s hair from her face. She laughed as the dragons wrestled for the treat in the sky. 

Daenerys looked out at the cloudless sky; her dragons dancing in a sea of blue. Here, with her children and the sun on her face, she felt most like herself. Her sleep the night before had been dreamless, leaving her feeling more rested than she had felt in a long while. She allowed herself to smile, though the feeling had been a stranger to her, as of late. 

Her smile didn’t last long as she remembered a raven scroll that had awoken her. More news from the north: the great lords had rallied at Winterfell. They planned to overthrow her, to take back the crown in the name of King Bran and Queen Sansa. Dany’s brows furrowed as pain jolted at the center of her forehead. 

_Flames will draw out the non-believers from where they hide_ , Kinvara’s words played in her mind. 

Dany’s last dream hung in the air like a period at the end of a sentence. The Lord had been quiet since, like he would not speak to her again until she did as he commanded. Daenerys wanted to, but the Lord’s messages jumbled in her mind. Kinvara tried to help her. The priestess was more advanced at interpreting the signs. 

Daenerys turned away from the balcony, the joy she had felt turning cold as stone. A puddle of warmth encompassed her foot as she stepped. She looked down, thick red blood pooling on her chamber floors. It seeped at the hem of her dress, climbing the fabric towards her. Her breath caught in her throat.

Littering her chamber floors, soaked in crimson red blood, lay the heads of a dozen wolves. Fear struck her; someone had been in her room. Her feet slipped as she ran for the door and she fell, blood staining the silk of her dress. She crawled along the wooden floor, past the corpses surrounding her. Her hands and knees slid through thick blood until she reached her chamber door. Gasping for breath, Daenerys reached for the handle before the fear could swallow her whole. 

_Spring will bloom atop Winter’s grave_.

The door swung open before she touched it, red robes pouring through.

“Are you alright, your grace?” Kinvara rushed to kneel beside her.

“Someone-“ She struggled as the priestess helped her to her feet. “There was…”

Daenerys’ voice trailed off as she glanced at the room around her. It was empty. There had been no wolves and no blood. Her hands were clean, her dress unstained. 

“I saw-“ She started, but stopped. She did not know what she had seen. The pain in her head grew and she winced. 

Kinvara helped her to the edge of her bed. “Sit, my queen. What is it?” 

“I don’t know,” Daenerys said. She gripped the bed post to ground herself. “It was like my dream, but I was awake.”

The priestess leaned back on the bed, one hand resting gently on Dany’s arm. “I’ve seen it too,” she said, “a vision in the flames.”

“What does it mean?” 

“You know what it means, my queen,” Kinvara said. 

“I can’t do it,” Dany said, “It feels like I’m making a mistake.”

Daenerys reached for her forehead as pain jolted through. She rubbed at her temples, longing for relief from the fog of her mind. When she looked back at the priestess, warm brown eyes met her’s with a smile. “The Lord is never wrong,” she said.

“They don’t believe me,” Daenerys had won the crown, but she felt defeated.

“It doesn’t matter what they believe now. They will see in time,” Kinvara replied.

She reached for Dany’s face, cupping her cheek in her hand for comfort. Daenerys wondered how she could be so sure, so firm in the choices she made. 

Kinvara must have noticed the uncertainty in Dany’s eyes, for she spoke again, “Do you doubt him?” she asked. 

Daenerys thought of a time when she awoke on a cold, stone table; the wound in her heart that would never heal. Scars she would bare forever; memories she could not erase. Being resurrected and meeting the priestess only confirmed what she had always known. She lived through betrayals and backstabbing, rejection and isolation, but one bell rang true through the dark night: she was the princess who was promised. 

“No,” she said, certain.

Kinvara smiled, “Then it’s time.”

+

Chatter ceased as Daenerys entered the council room. She could feel their cold stares locked on her wherever she went. They feared her; hated her even. But Daenerys knew what they did not, and soon she would make them see.

She cleared her throat to speak. “The northmen have gathered at Winterfell.” 

Daenerys glanced at Jon. He sat opposite her at the end of the table; the once great king looked feeble and small. He would not meet her eyes. She knew he feared her, as much as the rest of them did. But it did not matter. 

“I asked you to reason with them,” Daenerys turned her gaze to Sansa, who sat beside her brother.

“You did,” she replied. Sansa was stubborn. She resisted the queen’s rule more than the rest, as Daenerys had expected. 

“And did you?” 

“No,” Sansa said, her face baring no emotion, “They wouldn’t listen if I had. You can’t bend them your will, no matter what you do.” 

Daenerys stood from her chair. She started towards the young Stark, her fingers tracing along the wooden chairs of the table. “I told you what would happen if you disobeyed my commands.”

Sansa stood as well, facing Daenerys with resilience. They stood less than an arms length apart, their stares unfaltering. Daenerys knew she would not break; she was a queen as solid as ice. 

“But it doesn’t matter,” Daenerys said, “I can’t threaten to kill you because you don’t care. You would gladly die for your people, I understand that. I respect that.” 

She stepped closer to Sansa. “But it’s not your life the Lord wants.” 

Daenerys was the first to break her stare. She turned to Grey Worm, who stood behind her. “Take half the armies. Take Meli and Rūklon.” She turned back to face the once-queen, “Bring me the head of every great lord of the north.”

+

Jon sat alone in his chambers. The darkness made his thoughts near insufferable, but he could not be bothered to light a candle. The pile of corpses at his door grew with every passing day.

There was a knock at his door. With half the Unsullied marching north, the remaining guards had pulled back to the queen’s wing of the castle. Sam entered quietly, he had come unseen. 

Jon wanted to smile at the familiar face, but he could not bring himself to.

“Jon,” Sam said as he entered. He was a full maester now, chain links rattled with his every move. 

“I have a message for you,” the maester said, his voice hushed and urgent. He held out a sealed scroll to Jon, who accepted reluctantly. 

A wolf was stamped into the wax seal of the scroll. Jon unrolled the paper carefully. He squinted to read the words in the light of the torch Sam held.

_Meet in the dungeons_ , it said. 

Jon handed the scroll back to his old friend. “Destroy this,” he said.

+

Jon had not been followed. He carried a single torch through the damp halls of the castle dungeons. Above ground, the Red Keep had been beautifully rebuilt; grand windows and walls stood strong, showing the promise of tomorrow. Here, where daylight never reached, the destruction of the dungeons had remained. Rubble littered the floors where walls had caved in. A layer of ash covered everything, kicking up when Jon walked past.

The remnants of Daenerys’ attack lay buried underneath the grand keep, hidden from the world above. Jon felt as if he stepped through a crypt. 

He followed the torch light that came from the end of the hallway, signalling life in the room to his right.

One dragon skull had remained untouched. It bared teeth as long as Jon’s forearm; hollow eyes looming over the dungeon floor. He found Sansa and Tyrion in front of the great dragon. Tyrion sat upon the rubble, watching as Sansa paced the floors.

“Oh good you’re here,” Tyrion said as Jon approached. 

“What are you doing?” Jon asked.

Sansa turned to look at her brother, tears of anger welled in her eyes. “We have to stop her,” she said. 

Jon sighed, setting down his torch. “It’s too late, Sansa.” 

“How can you say that? These are our people!” she said. Her voice raised, echoing through the dungeons.

“They’re _your_ people,” Jon said. “You’re their queen. I told you what would happen if you didn’t listen, now it’s too late.” He did not know if his words to his sister were too harsh. Exhaustion weighed heavy on him, his mood worsening with each day. 

Anger raged through Sansa. She started to speak, but Tyrion interrupted, “He’s right.” 

He carried a drink with him on most days, but tonight he remained sober. “Her armies have gone, taking two full grown dragons with them. It’s done, Sansa.” 

Sansa sat across from Tyrion, defeated. 

“It’s too late for them, but it’s not too late for us,” Tyrion spoke, “Our plan can still work.” 

Jon was bewildered. How long had they plotted behind his back? 

“What plan?” he asked.

Sansa looked up at her brother, “She can’t be allowed to rule, Jon.” 

Jon felt a fire light inside him, embers swarmed through his veins. “I told you, that whatever you’re plotting, won’t work.” His voice raised, “Give up, Sansa.”

Sansa stood. “Why should I? Why should we let her get what she wants? She will destroy the seven kingdoms, Jon. You’re just going to sit by and let that happen?”

Jon glared at his sister, the familiar feeling of betrayal seeping in. “I tried to stop her before. I listened to you before. Where did that get me? What did that do for any of us?” 

Sansa stepped towards him, her voice hushed, but vicious. “Are you still defending her?” 

Jon turned from her. She was his sister, he knew, but he could not meet her eyes. He thought of the years spent north of the wall. The loneliness he had felt. The grief that would never leave his side. Each night he had dreamt of what he had done; what he hadn’t done. Every choice he made had left him feeling worse than before. He lived in these ruined dungeons. Rubble scattered across his mind, ash blanketed his every thought. No matter what he did, corpses littered his path. 

“I blame you,” he said quietly, thoughts he had felt inside for years finally boiling to the surface. “I blame you. And I blame Arya, and Bran. I blame Tyrion, and Varys, and Cersei, and Jaime. Davos, Bronn, everyone. We all did this!” He gestured to the room of rubble around them. “But most of all, I blame _myself_.” 

Sansa looked as if she had been slapped. “ _She_ did this, Jon. She’s the murderer, not us.” 

“Daenerys may have burned this city to the ground, but we lit the flame. And afterwards, you moved on. And Tyrion moved on. All of you picked up the pieces and put things back together, but I can’t. I don’t expect you to feel the guilt that I feel for the things that happened, but you can’t expect me to just move past it.”

Sansa and Tyrion had grown quiet. 

“I can’t blame her for what she did,” he said, “When I blame myself more.” Perhaps he was wrong, but Jon had lived through many wars. He had battled along the wall; he had killed a white walker. He had fought thousands of dead men; invaded King’s Landing. But never in Jon’s life had he ever felt as tired as he had now. 

“So you can plot all you want,” he said, “but I won’t take any part in it.” 

He turned to leave, his footsteps the only sound in the vast dungeons. He could almost feel the hollow eyes of the great dragon skull watching him as he left.


	10. The Prince of Dorne

Jon had come to find a place where he could be alone. The residents of the Red Keep were beginning to suffocate him. Council members tried to involve him; unsullied guards breathed down his neck. He looked out over the city, the sun beating down on the top of his head. With Drogon roaming about, they had no need for guards to patrol the roofs of the castle. So Jon found a place he could be alone. He felt at peace; no longer surrounded by the castle walls that felt to be caving in on him.

Jon had barely spoken in weeks. He could not bring himself to help the council with the tasks they presided over. Gold, city watch, and politics all felt so trivial to him now. Sansa and Tyrion had distanced himself from him—per his request—however now he hadn’t the faintest idea of what they planned. He hadn’t spoken to the queen either. She had kept busy; council and political meetings kept her nearly out of sight from him. 

So Jon was alone; left with the conflict that raged on in his mind.

He hadn’t noticed the dragon until its wings blocked the sun. It soared over him, wind following with the shadow. Meli landed on the walls aside Jon, bright red wings sparkling in the sun. Jon had spent a great deal of time around dragons that had never failed to make his heart race, but this one had a soft, somber nature. Eyes as dark as night peered over Jon, but he did not feel fear. Instead, he reached to place a hand on Meli’s maroon scales. The dragons eyes closed; a soft, purr-like rumble emerging from within.

“He likes you,” Daenerys’ voice rang from behind him. Jon startled at the sound, pulling his hand from the dragon’s face.

“How did you know I was here?” he asked her. 

“I didn’t. I was told my dragons would be returning from the north,” her voice was level and collected. She had her usual look; a sleek, dark dress and a queen’s crown atop neat curls. 

The smallest dragon landed next to Daenerys. She was white as a cloud, save for a dark streak of dried blood across her right shoulder. When Daenerys reached to touch the wound, the dragon let out a cry of pain.

“Oh, hush, sweetling,” she said, “It’s only a scratch.” She let out a gentle laugh and smiled up at the dragon’s face, reaching a hand of comfort to her pearlescent scales. 

Jon could not break his stare from the queen. He had remembered her like this; eyes bright and cheeks pink with love. Now standing in front of him, for the first time, it felt like she had truly returned. He spoke quietly, as to not disturb the vision of her. “What’s her name?”

“Rūklon,” she said, her voice less friendly when directed to Jon. The dragon’s eyes closed in content. “It means flower.” 

“Are they Drogon’s?”

She nodded.

“I thought you would’ve named them after Missandei, or Jorah.”

The mention of their names made her smile fade. She would not meet his eyes. “I can’t lose them again,” her voice grew small. Daenerys recollected herself, straightening her shoulders. “You shouldn’t be up here.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-,” Jon started towards her. He wanted to apologize for the memory he had invoked, but she quickly stepped back from him, flinching ever so slightly. Her eyes wide with fear, she stood closer to the great dragon behind her. The last time they spoke, anger and rage had met him from behind her eyes. Now, it was fear that crossed his gaze. Jon’s heart lurched; guilt pooling inside him. Until now, Daenerys had been a powerful queen; dark and unfaltering. She was fearless, and ruthless to those that opposed her. Only now could Jon see the true consequences of the choice he had made. She looked away, composing herself.

Jon wanted desperately to get back the girl he knew; the girl he had seen only moments before. Instead, the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms now stood before him; intimidating and sharp. Her dragons stirred, taking flight over the vast city. 

“I have a council meeting to attend,” she said, turning to leave. The dragons grew small in the sky as Daenerys’ footsteps grew distant.

Once again, Jon was alone.

+

Daenerys sat for hours at the head of the great table; wooden splinters beginning to prick at the skin of her arms. They had been at it all morning, discussing and bickering over the usual affairs of the kingdoms. They spoke of a new city watch, gold, and the rebuild of King’s Landing. The council members had been nearly, fully cooperative, as of late. They mainly focused on the tasks they had been assigned, perhaps surrendering their rebellious attitudes. Sansa, however, had not shown for many a meeting. Daenerys did not mind. The north had fallen silent since her armies and dragons invaded Winterfell; they had learned the hard way what it meant to rise against her.

As soon as Grey Worm returned from Winterfell, he would sit her council as the queen’s Master of War. Kinvara, her newly appointed hand.   
Ruling began to feel normal. Daenerys had not dreamt in weeks. The Lord of Light had been quiet, he had not given her a vision in a long while. Her mind was clear, focused.

“I’ve seen the state of the north,” Bran said, “They need food, they’re starving.” He was as calm as ever, sitting to Dany’s left. Pale hands clasped in his lap; long brown hair had grown to his shoulders.

Yara cleared her throat. “We can’t provide for them, when we can’t even help our own people. They wanted to be independent, let them. Until King’s Landing is restored, our focus should be here.”

“We still have damages to the outer gates and inner city buildings,” Tyrion said. “If we increases taxes to the kingdoms, it should allow us to build a steady fund for the repairs.”

The Prince of Dorne had been near silent all morning. Now, he sat up in his chair to speak, “Increase taxes?” he said, annoyance dripping through his words. “Doesn’t the queen have her own gold?”

“Yes, but it’s not enough for years of repairs. I know it’s less than ideal, but-“ Daenerys started.

“Less than ideal was forcing Dorne to kneel to your tyranny. Now, you want my people to pay to rebuild a city _you_ destroyed?” He pushed his chair out from the table, leaving in a fit of anger before Daenerys could respond.

Daenerys dismissed her council. “We’ll pick up again tomorrow,” she said as she stood. 

She hurried out the door the prince had left through moments before. Turning a corridor, she found him. He was walking away in a hurry, his back to her.

“Prince Areo,” she called, catching up with his stride. “May I have a word?”

He cleared his throat, slowing his step to allow her to walk beside him. “I am sorry if I lost my head.” His voice now calm.

Daenerys spoke. “I know what you may think of me, but I need your trust if I am to help the people.”

“Now you want to help the people? Just years ago, it was you who attacked them.” 

She paused, looking out at the city to her right. From high in the keep she could see rubble on the streets below. Some of the buildings had been rebuilt, others still in the process. Those who could not afford construction had formed makeshift homes underneath piles of stone and ash. “It’s hard to see now what will be, but everything is the Lord’s way. I don’t always understand why, myself, but he chose me.”

He stood across from her now, tall and slender. His beard neatly groomed; eyes a warm brown. Daenerys found herself yearning for his trust. 

“But you see, Daenerys,” he spoke calmly, “He’s _your_ Lord, not mine. I don’t believe in the Lord of Light. My faith lies with Dorne, and they suffer under the crown. Our crops are abundant; our goods plentiful. But the rest of the kingdoms can’t afford to buy or trade with us any longer. We should be thriving, and yet, our gold is insufficient. Why should Dorne pay to rebuild a city that isn’t ours?” He started walking again.

Daenerys could not answer. How many times could she speak of the Lord’s plan before she stopped believing it herself? They had arrived at his chamber doors. Prince Areo stopped to face her, kind eyes met hers. 

He opened the door to his chamber, reaching his hands near the floor. When he turned back to Daenerys, he held a small barrel in his hands. 

“Dornish Red,” he said, “A gift.”

She took the barrel from him with a half-hearted smile, handing it to her nearest guard.

Prince Areo turned to face her from his doorway. “If you want my trust, your Grace,” he said, “Let me go home. Give Dorne our independence and let us rule ourselves. Then, I will trust you.” 

She started to speak but the words caught in her throat. Dany wanted them all to believe her, but she had to be strong. If she spoke now, she was afraid her voice would be too weak. The door closed in front of her.

+

The queen sat alone in her private meeting room. When Tyrion entered, she looked up from the raven scrolls before her.

“Please, come in,” she said, gesturing to the chair across her way. Tyrion’s eyes drew to a single barrel on the table beside her. 

“Is that Dornish Red? You won’t mind if I help myself,” He did not wait for a response. He crossed the room, pouring himself a glass before taking his seat.

“Tell me,” he started, sipping the southern wine, “How did you get Bran to attend a council meeting? I haven’t been successful for years. Who did you threaten?” 

She smiled and leaned back in her chair, placing a feathered pen in its quill. “He offered. Is it so hard to believe he would want to help me?” 

“You don’t seem to inspire as much loyalty as you used to,” he paused, “You know Sansa will never forget what you did.”

Her smile faded. “Good, I should hope not.” Daenerys said, firmly. She paused, looking down at the hands in her lap. “However, I didn’t ask you here to discuss the Starks.” 

Tyrion knew, of course, what she had met with him for. He watched her, wondering if she would be too proud to ask for his help. 

“Prince Areo doesn’t trust me,” she said quietly.

“Does anyone?” Tyrion took another sip from his glass. 

“I’m serious,” she said. Her brows had furrowed; her voice growing softer, “I don’t want to ask for your help no more than you want to give it, but you know him. How do I convince him to work with me?” 

Tyrion placed his goblet on the table. He took a breath. “Well for starters, he doesn’t believe in your Lord. None of us do. Whatever the Lord of Light has said to you, means nothing to him. So other than your Lord’s vague promises, what do you have to offer?”

She did not speak, but looked towards her window. Her face had still looked so youthful; her eyes bright and her cheeks flushed. She appeared confused, lost in thought, unable to answer.

Tyrion finished off his wine. She watched as he stood, placing the empty goblet on the table in front of him. “Until you have something _real_ to offer his people, they don’t need you.”

+

Daenerys sat firmly in her chair, the mid-morning sun kissing the skin on her arm. It peered in through the windows of the room, dancing across the papers in front of her. She had hardly slept the night before, however when she woke, her mind was clear. No dreams had haunted her sleep. Now, she faced the day with determination.

When Prince Areo entered, she stood, perhaps too desperately. 

“You wanted to speak with me?” He asked. 

“Yes. Sit, please,” Daenerys said as he sat across from her, “Thank you for coming.” She returned to her chair.

“You spoke with Tyrion?” 

“I did,” She tried to collect her thoughts, to gather the words that she needed to say.

When she spoke again, her voice was gentle, but strong. “A thousand words could not erase the past,” she leaned towards him. “I know you want independence for Dorne. And I know you believe your people will be better off on their own, but you’re wrong. The people of Westeros have suffered far too long. We can’t separate now, not if we want to build the world that our people deserve.”

He was silent, curious eyes fixated on her.

“You said your crops were abundant,” she said. 

“They are.” 

“Whatever extra food you can’t use or sell, ship north,” Daenerys said, “I will pay for it with my own gold, until they can afford it themselves. The northmen can feed their families, and your people will earn the money from their crops. I’ll even allow you to return home, to see it through.”

He leaned back, a soft smile on his lips. 

Daenerys reached for him, placing a hand softly on his forearm. “They’re your people, but they’re my people now too. It may take years before you trust me completely, but trust that I want what is best for _our_ people.”

“You have a deal.” He smiled at her, genuinely. Warm brown eyes gazed at her, and he reached to shake her hand.

She clasped his fingers firmly, a smile spreading on her face. For the first time in years, Daenerys let herself feel hope.

+

Tyrion had arrived in the meeting room to see Prince Areo off. Daenerys stood, watching as the two embraced.

“Farewell, friend,” Tyrion said to the prince. “Do try not to miss me.”

Areo slapped a palm to the lord’s shoulders, “I won’t,” he said. They both chuckled. 

Daenerys met Tyrion’s eyes from across the room. For a second, a genuine smile looked back at her as he nodded in her direction.

The Prince stepped towards Dany. “Dorne will remember your kindness, my queen.” he said to her, kissing the top of her hand. She smiled warmly at him.  
Prince Areo noticed the barrel of wine on the table beside her. “Shall we toast?” he asked.

When the three of them had poured their wine, they held their goblets upwards.

The Prince of Dorne opened his mouth to speak, but pain jolted through Daenerys’ forehead. She squinted, trying to mask the pain from them.

_It’s coming for you. It came for your father, then your brothers. It’s coming for you next_. 

Daenerys’ eyes darted to the Prince. She felt her body go cold; her stomach sinking. When she spoke, it was barely more than a whisper. “What did you say to me?” 

Areo and Tyrion looked back at her, confusion in their eyes. 

“He said nothing, your grace,” Tyrion said to her, concern in his tone.

She tried to shake her head clear. “Forgive me, I must’ve misheard.” she said.

Prince Areo raised his glass to speak again. “Let us toast,” he spoke cheerfully, “to trust. To building the new world.. together.” He smiled at Daenerys, raising the glass to his lips. 

Daenerys did the same. 

_Poison._

She hesitated, the wine just inches from her lips. He would not poison her, she was certain. But the word hung in the air. The pain rang through her head once more, but she flinched it away. Slowly, she took a sip.

The sweet wine turned to sand in her mouth. She felt as it poured down her throat, stopping her breath in her chest. It filled her body like an hourglass, threatening to stop her heart from beating. She fell to her knees. Hot sand poured from her mouth when she coughed, heaving for breath. 

The guards nearest her had fallen to her, holding her up steadily from her arms. She put a hand to her head, bracing herself from the pain that clouded her vision. Each breath inhaled felt sharp as a blade, like the sand clung to her lungs. She met Prince Areo’s eyes. They were scared, concerned. He reached one hand out to her. 

Daenerys struggled to catch her breath. She looked down at the wine goblet; bright red wine now splattered across the rug.

_He tried to kill you._

Anger boiled inside her, as she looked at Areo's outstretched hand. “Seize him,” she said.


	11. Burn Them All

_Daenerys stood again, surrounded by the gnarled branches of the roots that made up the hallway. She had dreamt this countless times before. This time, there was an unsettling feel to the air, like something was awry. Cold winter winds sliced at the skin of her cheek, but she trudged forward nonetheless. She held her torch up to see better in the darkness. The subtle hint of children’s laughter danced with the wind, along with soft footsteps on snow. Each step echoed as if she was being followed, but when she turned, she faced nothing but the darkness of the sprawling hall. This time, she pressed her hands to the roots of the wall, peering one eye through the gaps in the wood. The storm raged on outside, and all she saw was the white of winter. She continued on. Again, she reached the door. One push on the dark red wood confirmed what she already knew: it would not open. The flames from her torch flickered with the wind, threatening to blow out. Her stomach sank when she heard the soft crunch of footsteps behind her, approaching quickly. She turned around, breath catching in her throat. In front of her stood a man, nearly a foot taller than her. His sunken eyes were wild; hair as white as the snow. A black crown sat atop his head. Before she could speak, he leaned into her and spoke in a whisper that carried with the wind of the storm._

_Burn them all._

+

She sat alone in the dark of her chambers, clasping her knees to her chest. The room was lit only by the flames of the fireplace before her. She could not bring herself to change; her dressing robes still wrapped around her. Prince Areo’s screams echoed in her mind. They had begged her not to do it, but he had tried to kill her. She had felt the poison burn in her throat. Daenerys did not remember saying the word, but Drogon’s flames engulfed him at her command, silencing the objections surrounding her. The fire danced across the floor of the dragon pit, the way it did in the fireplace now. A tear fell down her cheek, landing softly in her lap.

A stale plate of food sat on the table next to her. Servants had come and gone, offering her endless food and water, but she could not bring herself to eat. Each time she glanced at the food, whispers of warning swarmed her mind.

Kinvara had tried to visit, but Daenerys refused. She did not want to speak with the priestess, out of fear that her presence would invoke more visions that her mind could not take. In this room alone, she felt as if the walls were whispering to her. She felt eyes on her, peering over her every move. 

Grey Worm had returned earlier that afternoon, along with the rest of the army. He had found her in her chambers the same as she was now. 

“They will try again,” she had told him. 

His eyebrows furrowed when he responded. “They will not get the chance.” That afternoon, he doubled the guards outside her room, only adding to her ongoing paranoia. 

She could not stop the tears from falling faster now. She had hoped that the return of Grey Worm would bring an old friend back to her side, but he was nearly as cold as she was now, understandably. No warmth was left behind his eyes, and he stood as a walking reminder of all she had lost. Grief threatened to tear a hole in her chest. She yearned for the comforting arms of Missandei; the soothing words of Jorah. Daenerys did not know the stranger that she had become. She had never felt more alone in her life.

She startled when the door opened, fear causing a panic in her mind at the possibilities that had come for her. Grey Worm entered, followed by Jon Snow. He stood in the doorway, a tray of warm food in his hands. A slight feeling of betrayal washed over her; Grey Worm had ignored her command for no visitors.

Daenerys did not want to look into Jon’s eyes for fear of what might stare back. She kept her eyes low as he crossed the room, replacing the old food next to her with the warm tray. 

She did not try to hide her tears as he sat in the chair beside her. She could not look at him. Instead, she faced the fire, arms tightening around her knees.

When he spoke, his voice was gentle, and warmer than the fire on her face. “You have to eat something,” he said. 

She said nothing, swallowing away a sob that threatened to push free. She would not break, not in front of him. Surely, he did not care whether she ate or starved. And if he did, could she be sure it was not simply another trick? When he leaned closer, she flinched back at the movement.

Slowly, he reached for the tray, picking up a fresh piece of bread in his hands. She watched as he took a bite, then offered the rest to her. “It’s not poisoned,” he said, chewing, the softest hint of a smile on his lips. Dany hesitated, but reached to take the food from his hands. 

Their fingers grazed as she allowed herself to look up at him. The years had not been kind to the man she once knew. The skin under his eyes was dark, matching hers. His hair was disheveled, but tied in his familiar knot. Behind the sadness of his face, however, the same warm eyes remained. Familiar brown eyes; she could remember the happiness that radiated from them. The eyes she looked into as she told him she loved him. The eyes that had stabbed her in the heart and watched her die. 

She pulled away at the memory, returning her gaze to the fire. She clutched the bread in her hands as more tears threatened to spill.

Jon understood. He hesitated, but stood to leave. Daenerys waited until she heard his footsteps fade before she allowed the rest of her tears to pour over. She wiped them from her cheeks on the back of her hand as Grey Worm left behind him. The door closed, leaving her alone. She did not touch her tray of food, but ate the bread entirely.

+

Tyrion stormed through the halls of the Red Keep. For a fortnight they had kept him holed up in his chambers, unable to leave. Now, rage fueled him as he neared the queen’s meeting room. He ignored the guards, throwing the door open as he arrived. She startled at the sound, turning to face him.

“He was my friend,” he hissed through a clenched jaw. “He was my friend, and _you killed him_.” He slammed his fists down on the table before her, her awestruck expression turning quickly to anger. 

“He tried to kill me,” she said.

“He wanted to make peace!” Tyrion’s voice raised now, filling the small room.

Her eyes had gone dark as night, lips furling at his declaration. “Peace? He poisoned me.”

Tyrion stood straight, hands clenching at his side. “Are you pure evil?” he said, “Or have you gone completely mad?”  
Daenerys’ blinked in shock at his words. She did not speak, but stared at him, confusion on her face.

“You saw me drink the wine the day before,” he said, “It was never poisoned.” 

She shook her head, “He must’ve poisoned it after.” 

Tyrion felt his rage boiling under every inch of his skin. When he noticed the barrel still on the edge of the table, he started towards it. 

“Alright then, if you’re so sure,” he said as he poured himself a goblet of the summer wine. She gasped as he tilted his head back, drinking the goblet clean. He stood firmly; unaffected, save for the tingle of alcohol.

She leaned forward on the table, eyes squinting up at him. “I don’t have time for your tricks,” she said, but her voice bled with uncertainty. 

He filled the goblet again, shoving it towards the queen. It spilled over, staining the sleeves of her clothes. 

“See for yourself,” he said, venom seeping through his voice.

Daenerys glared up at him; short breaths of anger escaping her. She looked away, staring out the window to her left. After a moment, she turned back to Tyrion, fixating angry eyes of ice on him. In one swipe, she drank the wine in front of her. 

When nothing happened, her brows furrowed. She looked down at the empty goblet in her hands, confused eyes darted back and forth. Tyrion started towards her.

“I was wrong before,” He said, pressing both palms to the table. He leaned into her, refusing to break her stare, “You are your father.”

Her face crumpled in pain, her breath cut short. The pain turned to anger as she stood, towering over him. 

“Get out,” she hissed. 

But he did not falter. 

“ _Get out!_ ” she screamed, throwing her arms across the desk and crashing the barrel to the floor. It’s wood exploded, sending streaks of dark red across the carpet. 

Without a word, Tyrion left.

+

By the time Jon reached Tyrion’s chambers, he was already drunk. His room reeked of the alcohol, the smell surrounding him like a fog. Jon did not sit, but stood in front of him. Tyrion looked up at him, eyes glazed over.

“Was the poison your doing?” Jon asked. 

Tyrion laughed softly. “Do you take me for a fool?” he said, “We both saw what happened to Varys. Do you really think I’d let myself suffer the same fate?” He drank from the cup in his hands.

Jon sat, leaning over on his elbows. 

“Either way, there was no poison,” Tyrion continued.

Jon stared at him. The confusion must’ve shown on his face, for Tyrion spoke again. “The Mad Queen does have a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?” 

“That’s not funny,” Jon replied. His annoyance had begun to grow with the drunk man before him.

“It wasn’t a joke,” Tyrion said, his voice growing somber. “She convinced herself she was being poisoned, and she killed my friend for it.” He twirled the cup in his hands, watching as the liquid climbed the edges of the glass.

“What do we do?” Jon asked.

Tyrion shrugged indifferently.

“We can’t just do nothing,” Jon said quietly. 

“Oh yes, we can,” Tyrion said. He leaned back in his chair, resting his feet on a stool in front of him. “I happen to like giving up.”

Jon could not help but roll his eyes. He looked away, losing himself to thought. He could not help but feel pity for the girl he had seen the day before. She had been so scared; so alone. 

He could feel Tyrion grow serious before him. He dropped his feet from the chair, leaning towards Jon. “She’s gone, Jon,” he said softly, “It’s time to let her go.”

Jon sat back in his chair. Since her return, she had seemed a stranger to him. A distant ruler from a far off land. But there were times when Daenerys flashed true behind her eyes. It was if she was trapped inside herself, yearning to break free from her confines. “No, I don’t believe that,” he said.

Tyrion sighed. “You put too much on yourself, Jon Snow. But even you should know when a battle is lost.”

Jon shook his head, looking down at his hands. “She saved me more times than I can count,” he started, “And I couldn’t save her. And I know you think it’s a lost cause… but I owe it to her to try.” 

Tyrion set his cup down on the table beside him. Jon stood to leave. Before he reached the door, Tyrion spoke. “Jon,” he called, his voice hushed, “I urge you to be careful. If she finds out about Sansa, she will kill every one of us.” 

 

Later, Jon found Grey Worm hurrying through the halls of the castle.

“Grey Worm,” he called, trying to meet his quick strides.

“I do not have anything to say to you,” Grey Worm said.

Jon struggled to keep pace with the soldier. “Look, I know you don’t trust me,” he said.

“I do not.”

“But I need to speak to you,” Jon said.

“You are speaking,” he replied.

Jon pulled at Grey Worm’s arm, stopping him in his tracks. “The queen’s not safe” he said, careful of his words.

“The Unsullied stand guard outside her chambers day and night. They patrol the halls of the keep. All of her food and water, we try first. She is safe,” he spoke firmly.

Jon thought over his words. If he spoke too much, he'd put his family in danger. If he did not speak enough… 

“She’s never safe,” he said, “Just.. look out for her, please.” 

Grey Worm looked as if he wanted to say more. His voice grew quiet. “Lord Tyrion spoke to her today.”

“What did he say?” Jon asked.

“I do not know,” he said, “But she.. she is not well.”

+

Daenerys watched the sun as it set along the waves of the ocean. The fire of the sunset kissed the surface of the water as it swayed back and forth. If she closed her eyes, she could feel the wave of the sea. She wanted to drift with it, out beyond the horizon.

From her chamber balcony, the breeze swept strongly through her hair. Her face was streaked with tears; tangled hair sticking to the wetness of her cheeks. Her head throbbed in pain, so often that she almost grew numb to it. She did not flinch when the door opened behind her; she did not feel anything at all.

His steps were soft and slow; cautious as if not to disturb her. When she looked at him, he smiled sadly, brown eyes full of concern. 

She turned back to the sea, letting the evening breeze caress her face. 

Perhaps she wanted to confide in someone once close to her, or perhaps she needed to hear the words aloud herself. Either way, she spoke first. “When I was given my dragon eggs, I dreamt that if I carried them into a great fire, they would hatch. So I did, and my children were born. Afterwards, every dream I had came true. I had heard rumors that those with the blood of the dragon saw visions in their sleep. So when I dreamt of my armies and dragons crossing the narrow sea, I sailed for Westeros. When they told me to summon the King in the North, I did.” 

Daenerys looked towards him, but the sight of his face made her eyes well with tears. His brows were creased in thought; his eyes watching her intently. She turned towards the wind once more, watching the ships sway in the harbor waves. 

“Something changed when I arrived in Westeros,” she said, wanting not to let the fear show in her voice. “The dreams became stronger, more vivid. They came to me every night without fail. I think they started to happen even when I was awake, I'm not sure. Everything became a blur, like I was under water struggling to reach the surface.” She paused, gripping the bricks beneath her hands.

“When I woke again, the priestess, Kinvara, told me that it was the Lord of Light speaking to me. The visions that I had, she saw them too. And I took comfort in knowing that someone understood, that I wasn’t alone.

But now,” her voice quivered. The pain had engulfed the entirety of her skull and she breathed in deeply, struggling to keep her voice from shaking, “Everything’s so cloudy. Half the time, I can’t tell if I’m asleep or awake.

And Prince Areo-,” she could not continue, for fear she would sob. “Perhaps I am mad after all.” 

Jon took a step towards her, but still he did not speak. 

Dany leaned again on the balcony, afraid that if she released her grip, she would float away with the ocean breeze. She squeezed her eyes shut, tears pouring down her face now, dripping onto the bricks of the ledge. “I don’t know what’s real anymore,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I want to wake up.”

“I’m real,” Jon said, his voice soft as the breeze. He placed a hand on hers, squeezing her fingers gently. She was a ship in the harbor, drifting away with the waves; his touch was the anchor. 

She shook her head softly, but he stepped closer.

“Dany,” he said, “Please, tell me how to help you.”

Daenerys looked up at him, her vision clearing in the warmth of his eyes. But she could not give him an answer that she did not know herself. 

“I don’t think you can,” she whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so like i've never really paid attention to the comments section before this fic so i'm wondering if people are always this judgy?? lol  
> but i really appreciate everyone that's leaving nice comments, i love reading your reactions and theories so please leave more!! thanks for reading!! 
> 
> p.s. i know things are looking bleak but bear with me lol


	12. The Storm

_Daenerys found herself again in the dark tunnel. The wind swept past her feet; whispers beckoned her towards the great wooden door. She hesitated as she stepped forward, eyeing the depths of the tunnel before her where she knew a closed door awaited her. Instead of trudging forward, she turned around, heading in the opposite direction. The whispers in the wind protested as she ignored their commands, heading backwards along the twisted roots. She came across a row of small, wooden doors. She held her torch up to the nearest door, illuminating the dark brown wood. When she placed a hand on the metal handle, shock rang through her as the door gave way. It opened to a small, warm room, lit with the fire of a dozen candles. A woman sat on the edge of the bed, clutching her infant child in her arms. Across from her stood a tall man, beautiful and strong. He resembled Viserys, but older. Dany recognized this vision as one she had seen before. It was her brother, Rhaegar._

_“Aegon… what better name for a King…” He spoke to the woman. “He is the Prince that was Promised, and his is the song of ice and fire.”  
She smiled up at him, “How do you know?”_

_Rhaegar crossed the room, sitting softly beside her. “A vision given to me in dreams. A great hero emerging from the clashing of ice and fire. He will be that hero.”_

_When Daenerys arrived at the next door, whispers of warning swarmed around her; she was not allowed in. She ignored the commands once again, pressing lightly on the wood of the door. The wind picked up, blowing fiercely at the torch in her hands. From behind the door, however, a faint grumbling of thunder. She entered, the winds ceasing as she stepped into the dark room. Lightning struck, illuminating the room in a flash of blue light._

_A woman sat alone on the bed, blood soaking through the furs around her. Sweat rolled down her face as rain pattered outside the walls. Her long, silver hair was streaked with thick, red blood. In her pale hands, a leather bound book. With all the strength left in her she reached below the bed, placing the book somewhere unseen._

_The floorboards beneath Daenerys groaned, and the woman’s eyes darted upwards._

_She looked straight at her, shock and pain on her face. She could see her; Dany’s stomach clenched at the realization._

_“You shouldn’t be here,” she said._

+

She could not call a council meeting. She could not look in the faces of those who had betrayed her; those who despised her. No longer could she play the role she came here to play.

The message had arrived that morning; an ornate gift box draped in velvet. Inside had been a single small dragon, carved beautifully of red wood. A snake coiled around the dragon’s neck. The message was clear. She had lost Dorne’s allegiance, almost as quickly as she had lost the north’s. 

The first storm of spring raged outside; the sky dark as if it was night, but it was mid-morning. Rain poured down, dripping from the stones of the window. Occasionally, the room was illuminated with the bright glow of lightning. Pain ached through the center of Dany’s forehead. It was so strong, she wanted to dig her nails through the skin there, piercing away the pain.

“You wanted to speak with me, your grace?” Kinvara spoke as she entered. Her calmness contradicted the fierce storm outside. 

Daenerys said nothing, but held out the wooden dragon for her to see. 

The priestess took it in her hands, turning and examining the intricate carving. 

“The Lord of Light did this,” Daenerys spoke, “Why would he do something to make me lose an ally? Why would he convince me to kill someone who had joined his cause?”

Daenerys knew one thing for certain: she had been wrong. The poison.. the wine.. it all had felt so vivid, so true. Somehow she was caught in the mind game of a Lord she no longer trusted. If she had been wrong about this, what else had she imagined? She could not finish the thought.

“It is not our duty to question the Lord, sweet queen,” Kinvara said, her voice calm and still.

“Do not speak to me like I am a child,” Dany snapped. “Not anymore.”

She crossed to Kinvara, taking the wooden dragon from her hands. She threw it in the fireplace, watching the flames dissolve the wood to embers. 

“Daenerys,” the priestess stepped towards her, placing a hand on her arm. “You must trust that the Lord knows the way-“

Daenerys looked at her as thunder shook the castle walls. “I do not have to do anything. I am not your puppet any longer. I am done obeying your Lord. Every vision he has given me, every dream and every whisper has left me worse off than before. I will not sit by and let what I have claimed slide from my grasp.” 

Kinvara looked shocked, offended at her queen’s words. “My queen, he brought you back to life. He chose _you_. You were sent to lead the people against the darkness.”

“The people?” Dany said, her voice raised, battling the storm to be heard. “All I ever wanted was to help people… and I’m _hurting_ them. Prince Areo? What of his people?” Pain swelled in her mind. She sat, finding stability in the chair nearest her.

Kinvara knelt beside her, placing a warm hand on Dany’s cheek. “Sweet girl, how can you not see? The darkness is _within_ us. All people are great sinners, Daenerys. It’s the people that spread the darkness throughout this world… and you will cleanse the world of it.” 

Daenerys froze in her chair. She squinted at Kinvara, unable to comprehend the words she had spoken. She could not quite put the meaning together in her mind, but the possibilities filled her with dread. She brushed off the priestess’ hand, leaning away from the face in front of her. Lightning flickered in the red woman’s eyes. 

_Burn them all._

“You need to leave,” Dany said.

Kinvara nodded, slowly heading towards the door, “I’ll be in my chambers, if you need me.” 

“No,” Daenerys said. “You need to leave Westeros. I will give you a ship, and you will return to Volantis at once. ” 

“My queen-“

“Leave. Now.” Dany said firmly. “If you set foot in the Seven Kingdoms again, I will have you executed myself.”

Kinvara left in a cloud of red fabric.

The thunder shook the castle walls once more, pain jolting through Dany’s head. The feeling made her legs weaken, and she fell to her knees, grasping the table for the strength. Voices spoke to her over the boom of the storm.

_Burn them all._

+

Jon was sitting on the window ledge, watching the rain when there was a knock at his chamber door. “Come in,” he called out.

Daenerys entered with a flash of lightning, Grey Worm following close behind. He had not seen her outside of her chambers in days. She wore a flowing black dress, red dragon scales shone on each shoulder. She looked exhausted, with dark bags under glassy eyes, but her hair was neat. It fell down her back in one slick braid. 

She spoke quietly to her commander in their shared tongue, dismissing him from the room. When they were alone, Jon spoke. “How are you?” he asked.

She shook her head, brushing off the question. “I have to ask you something,” she spoke softly, crossing the room towards him.

He nodded.

“I need your help,” Daenerys said, joining him in front of the window. The light lit half of her face, leaving the other half in darkness. Shadows danced across her cheeks, the tip of her nose, and the curve of her lips. Her eyes glistened in the light of the storm. The years spent without her had only emphasized her beauty.

“Why me?” Jon asked. His right sleeve had begun to grow damp from the rain.

“You asked me how you could help me,” Dany smiled, but her eyes were sad. “And funny enough, you might be the only person I can trust at the moment.”

She leaned her elbows on the brick ledge. “There’s something I have to do; somewhere I have to go,” she said, “But no one can know, not even Grey Worm. And I have to go alone.” 

“Why do you need me?” Jon asked.

“I can tell Grey Worm not to disturb me in my chambers, so he won’t notice I’m gone. But I need you to cover for me if the council asks where I am.” She paused. “And I know they’ll trust you.” 

He studied her. In moments like this she seemed so normal; so herself. But Jon hadn’t the faintest idea of what storms raged on behind her eyes. “Where are you going?”

“I can’t tell you,” she said. When he did not respond she spoke again, “Do you trust me?” 

He smiled at her. “Funny enough, I do.”

+

He found Sansa and Bran having their supper in the dining hall, their eyes watching him carefully as he approached. He took a seat beside his siblings, reaching for a flagon of ale on the table. They sat in silence for a while, his sister sipping lightly at a cup of soup in her hands. The storm had raged for most of the day, and the trickling of water drowned the noise of the hall.

Jon spoke quietly, letting the storm mask his voice from the rest of the room. “I need to speak to you, both of you,” he said. When his sister turned to him he spoke again, “I need you to do something for me.” 

“What is it?” Sansa asked. 

“Whatever it is you’re planning... about the queen, I need you to call it off,” He said.

Sansa started to speak, but Bran interjected, turning his face from the storm outside. “Where is the queen?” he asked, curiously. 

“In her chambers,” Jon lied, “She won’t see anyone.” 

Bran’s face for a second appeared confused, but he turned back towards the storm.

Sansa leaned on the table, squinting at her brother. “And you know this because you’ve tried to speak with her… or you have been speaking with her?” 

“I have been speaking with her,” Jon knew what game his sister was trying to play. 

She leaned closer, her voice angry but hushed. “Have you lost your mind? She’s completely mad, Jon. If she for a second thinks that you-“

“She won’t hurt me,” he said firmly. 

“You don’t know that, Jon. What if she thinks you’re poisoning her like the Prince? Or what if-“ 

“ _Listen to me_ ,” Jon’s fist slammed on the table, but his words stayed quiet. “I trusted you once, and you betrayed me. I forgave you, because you are my family, but you owe me this.”

She glanced at Bran for help, but he was indifferent. 

“I’ve listened to you, Sansa. I’ve trusted your judgment, for all the good it’s done me,” Jon said, “Now I’m asking you this, as your brother. Call it off.” 

Sansa said nothing, but leaned back in her chair.

+

By the time Daenerys left, the storm had reached its peak. She clung hard to Drogon’s scales, wet from the pouring rain. It was near impossible to see through the storm clouds in the dark of night. The rain streaked down her face, lingering in her eyelashes and clouding her vision. Drogon flew chaotically, dodging the lightning and strong winds.

She breathed a sigh of relief when they finally reached the stone cliffs of Dragonstone, unharmed. Daenerys shivered at the sight of the great castle standing vacant on the edged rocks. It loomed over the ocean; a hollowed shell of a once great dynasty. Lightning shook the ground, and she began the journey up the long staircase to the entrance.

Once inside, she removed the fur cloak from her shoulders that had become soaked with rain. The castle had been left untouched since her stay; Targaryen banners still draped the walls, as they had centuries before. She started towards the war room, where she knew she would find a candle to light. She ran her finger along the dragon carving of the wall, walking alongside the great wooden map of Westeros. Dany could not dwell too long in this room; memories of the past were too painful to bare. 

There was a wing of the castle unused by her armies. It was the farthest from the throne room; an inconvenient walk up a long flight of winding stairs. Baratheon banners still hung in the halls of this wing. She tore them down as she passed. The hallway was unfamiliar to her, the darkness deep and thick. The one candle she held could hardly combat the night, and a shiver ran down her spine. 

Daenerys opened the doors to each room, none of which looked familiar. Finally, near the end of the hallway, she reached a door that opened to a small room. A single bed sat in the middle of the floor. The windows had been left open; the rain dripping in. She entered, using her flame to light the rest of the candles throughout the room. 

She did not know how long the room sat vacant, but the furniture was ajar. Cobwebs lined all corners, and a thin layer of dust blanketed the room. She placed a hand to the wooden frame of the bed, feeling nothing but the cold wood.

She knelt down on the dusty carpet, crouching to see under the frame of the bed. Daenerys took a breath, fearful of what she would find, but even more fearful to find nothing. She reached underneath, hands trailing along the wood. At first, she felt nothing. Then, her fingers brushed upon something smooth and flat. She pulled it out, placing it softly in her lap. The light from the candle told her what it was: a small, leather-bound journal. 

She turned to the first page; dust floating out from the covers. Dany held the candle to the paper to better see the words written in ink. 

_Rhaella Targaryen_

She turned more pages, and began reading one of the entries.

_I fear for my husband’s state of mind._

_He drifts further with every passing day; at night he mumbles in his sleep. He speaks of wildfire, of dragons and betrayals. By day he sends archers to shoot down birds from the sky. Not to read the messages they carry, but because he believes the crows to be speaking to him._

_I’ve heard him speaking in the hall at night as I pretend to sleep. His plans of wildfire are beginning to frighten me._

_I fear for my children. I fear for us all if he-_

Thunder shook the room, pulling Daenerys from the page. Unknowingly, her breath had quickened in her chest; heart pounding in her ears.

She continued through more of the book. This time, the letters were shaky; ink splattered along the edges.

_I too dream, but only one. In my dream, I am in a field of flowers blue as the sky. There’s a child there, laying under stalks of the tall grass. She is spring; hair as white as the clouds, eyes a deep, warm brown. She is taken from me before I can hold her in my arms. I watch as they carry her away._

_The baby is coming soon, I can feel it. The maester believes it to be a girl. I hope this time, I can hold her._


	13. The Mad King

By the time Drogon reached the outskirts of King’s Landing, the storm had passed and sun peered through wisps of clouds. The dragon’s wings outstretched, soaring over the city in a swift, dark shadow. Daenerys gripped tightly to his black scales as he danced with the breeze. She relished in the feeling of the wind in her hair and the sun on her face. From here, she felt unstoppable; she could go anywhere. When Drogon flew closer to the rooftops, Dany watched as people below pointed upwards at the great dragon. They were small in her eyes, but she could see smiles of wonder as they passed.

A flash of green smoke crossed her vision. Her head ached; the people below no longer smiling, but screaming in terror. They ran, fleeing as flames engulfed them. Daenerys squeezed her eyes shut, trying desperately to regain her true vision.   
Drogon flew closer to the ground, just over a market of citizens. Stalls of fruit, meats, and fabrics lined the streets before her, flooded with a sea of bustling people. Jolts of pain; flashes of fire haunted her vision.

_Dracarys._

She never said the word aloud, or so she had thought, but the dragon’s massive jaws unclenched. She felt the guttural roar of fire begin to build from within his throat.

“Drogon, _stop!_ ” she yelled in fear, pulling tightly on the dragon’s scales. He soared upwards, leaving the crowd of people behind.

“Let me down,” she said through quickened breaths, heart pounding in her ears.

Drogon landed atop the Red Keep, weight crumbling the bricks beneath his feet. She could not wait for the dragon to stable itself before she threw herself off, rolling onto the stones below. She fell to her knees, clawing at the pain in her head. She squeezed her eyes tight. The flashes of fire and smoke would not leave her; breath would not fill her lungs.

Her soldiers must have heard the boom of the dragon’s land, for they found her up there. They swarmed her, eager to help their queen to her feet. 

Daenerys watched as Drogon took flight over the city, which now sat calm and still. She watches his wings disappear into the clouds. Concerned eyes of her soldiers stared back at her intently.

“It’s alright,” she assured them, trying to work up an explanation, but still short of breath. “I must’ve fallen.”

+

Sansa watched Bran intently, waiting for him to return to the room. She could not get used to seeing her youngest brother like this. His eyes were glazed in white; face pale as snow. It sent chills down her spine.

“What’s it like? Seeing through the eyes of a bird, I mean,” she said when he woke. “I imagine it’d be like flying.”

“You’re here to talk about Jon,” he said. 

She looked down at her the hems of her sleeves. “I’m worried about him.”

Bran did not respond. Sansa kneeled beside her brother, wanting desperately to feel close to family. “He’s not thinking clearly, I know he’s not.”

“He loves her,” he said calmly. 

“And it’ll be the death of him,” she stood, unable to keep still. “He can’t see how different she is. I don’t know what to do about it anymore.” 

He watched her as she paced the wooden floors. “Are you afraid you’ll fail?”

She stopped, turning on her heels to face her brother. He sat half a room away, but still she missed him. She missed when he was her brother, without the vague statements and disappearing act. She missed when the truth did not pour from him like a river. 

He spoke once more, unaffected by the distress on her face. “No.. you’re afraid what he will think of you if you succeed.”

+

The fire crackled on the wooden logs; embers swirling in the air of the small room. There was a chill in the air that night, and Daenerys draped a large fur over her shoulders for warmth. The city was so quiet, she could hear the waves of the ocean below as they met with the stones of the shore. _How terrifying it must feel to be a wave on the sea,_ she thought, _Your course is set, you will collide with the shore no matter what you do._ She could not shake the memory of the morning from her mind. Control slipped through her fingers with every passing day.

She did not hear him enter, but he joined her in front of the fire. He held his hand out, offering a warm mug of mint tea before sitting. She took it, watching as the steam swirled through the air. 

“My whole life I’ve been told stories of my family,” she said. “And yet I know nothing about them.”

“You went to Dragonstone?” he asked. He watched her face as she watched the fire.

She nodded. “I thought it would help me understand… but I feel more confused than before.” She paused. “When the Lord of Light brought you back… did you ever wonder what for?” She looked at him, his face had fixated on the fire.

“I try not to think about it,” he said with a soft smile.

“I thought I was here to help the people,” she said. Daenerys thought of that morning, of how close she had been to unknowingly setting the market ablaze. Her grip tightened around the mug in her hands. “But I can’t control it anymore. How can I help the people… if I am their greatest threat?” She could not hide the way her voice broke.

He remained silent, unable to answer the question in front of him. 

She stood, crossing the room to hide her face from the man beside her. “You were right to kill me,” she spoke barely above a whisper, “I shouldn’t be here.”

He stood quickly, angry at her words. “No, I wasn’t. It was a mistake,” he said, pain dripped through every word. “I’ve seen a world without you, Daenerys. It’s not better.”

She turned to look at him, his warm eyes turned cold from tears. It was now when she realized how hurt he truly was.

“I don’t know why you were brought back,” he said as he stepped closer to her. The light grazed across his cheeks; his words warmer than the fire. “But you’re here. And you have the chance to do something good, to make up for every shit thing that's happened in the past.. and I know you can.” 

He stepped closer now, barely an arm’s length away. His head shook slightly. "I don't believe in gods. I don't pray at weirwood trees anymore, and I don't see visions in the flames... but I believe in you." 

Her forehead throbbed in pain as he grew closer; the scar on her chest ached where the dagger had once been. But he stood in front of her, warm eyes gazing down at her; cheeks flush and pink. 

As if he could sense her fear, he raised a hand of comfort to her cheek. His forehead touched where her’s ached. The whispers swarmed her, warning of his touch, but she ignored them. She crashed into him like the waves on the shore.

+

_The wind had picked up in the dark hall. It sliced at the skin on her cheeks, ushering her towards the great wooden door. Again, she turned around, heading in the opposite direction. The wind blew fiercely at her, threatening to knock her off her feet. Her torch had blown out, and she was left alone to navigate the darkness. The wooden doors still lined the rooted walls of the hall. She passed the two she had entered, reaching for the third. The whispers engulfed her, shouting now. She gripped the handle of the door to steady herself from the harsh wind, and pushed with all her strength. It opened, and she fell in, closing the wind behind her. She stood in a hallway, grand arches stretched to the ceiling. When she stepped, the soles of her shoes echoed on the tile floors. She recognized the room as the balcony that overlooked the throne room of the Red Keep. From deep inside the room, a voice shouted. It grew as she neared. Daenerys peered around the great pillars. A man sat atop the iron throne, dressed in a dark, black cloak. An ebony crown rested on his long, silver hair. He was shouting, his eyes wild and fierce._

_“The traitors want my city… but I’ll give them naught but ashes. Let him be king over charred bones and cooked meat.”_

_Daenerys descended the cold marble steps, slowly approaching the man on the throne. She brushed past the men that surrounded the room, but they did not pay her mind._

_She took each step towards the iron throne, hesitant to be found, but the king of the past could not see her._

_“Let him be king of the ashes.”_

_She was close now, and she could see that the words did not come from him. His mouth was moving, his eyes wild, but his lips made no sound. It was then she noticed a raven sat perched on his left shoulder. With feathers as black as the night, it spoke the words that the king did not._

_“Burn them all.”_

+

Daenerys awoke with a gasp. The fire had all but died, and the room was lit only by the failing embers. She sat up in bed, struggling to catch her breath; heart pounding in her ears from the dream.

Jon stirred, and soon she felt his hand on her back. She clutched the furs to her chest as he sat up beside her. 

“What did you see?” He asked quietly, tracing his fingers along the skin of her back. 

Dany shook her head softly; she could not speak of her dream. For all her life she had run from the darkness of her father’s shadow. She had always heard talk of his madness, but seeing it face to face had left her uneasy. She thought of her brother Rhaegar, how obsessed he had been with prophecies; her brother Viserys and his wicked mind. Her family’s madness felt more inevitable now than ever. 

Moments passed in silence. She listened to the soft crackling of the fire’s embers, the weight of the world threatening to crush her. 

Jon must’ve noticed the distress on her face, for he spoke. “I lied earlier,” he said quietly, “I do think about why I was brought back.” 

She turned to face him. It was an obvious distraction, she knew, but she listened to his words, nonetheless. 

“I’ve thought about it every day since… why I’m here, what I’m meant for,” His eyes were tired from sleep; hair tangled. The fire’s dying light danced across the scars on his bare chest. “I know what it’s like, to not feel like you have a reason.”

Her brows furrowed at his comment. “You have a reason,” she said softly, “You have a family.”

He smiled sadly, gently brushing her unbraided hair from her shoulder. “I haven’t seen Arya in years. I think Sansa hates me, and Bran…” His voice trailed off. “I don’t think I’ve truly seen him since he was a boy.”

He smiled, but his voice was sad. She yearned to comfort him. “You never told me about Bran,” she said.

“Well with the army of dead coming, there were more important things,” he said, with a soft chuckle. He kissed the skin of her shoulder. “He was so special when he was a boy. He was fierce and funny… adventurous,” he continued.

Jon’s eyes lit up when he spoke of his brother, and she smiled. “What happened?” she asked.

“He fell from a tower, and it crippled him. I didn’t see him after, but I heard he went north of the wall,” His eyes went cold. “The next time I saw him he was… different. He’s not really Bran anymore... calls himself the Three-Eyed Raven now.” 

He continued, but his voice trailed off in Dany’s mind. Her body went cold; the hairs on her arms raised. 

_-he believes the crows to be speaking to him._ Her mother’s words echoed in the air. 

“What did you say?” she asked him, short of breath.

“He went north of the wall,” Jon said, concern in his eyes.

“No.. after that.”

“He calls himself the Three-Eyed Raven… Dany? What’s wrong?” His fingers tightened around her waist. 

She could not answer him, for her mind was shrouded in feathers dark as night; the words of her father played over again in her ears. A numbness spread through her as she remembered a detail from her dream: the raven that sat upon her father’s shoulder. 

The raven had three eyes.


	14. Jon

“Dany… what’s wrong?” He asked her, but she did not reply. Her eyes had glassed over, all color had drained from her face. She brushed off his touch and stood, tying the ends of her dressing robe with trembling hands. The room was quiet, save for the sound of her footsteps as she paced back and forth in front of the bed. She whispered inaudibly to herself. Her eyes were wet with tears, and she pinched the skin between her brows with a grimace. 

“Daenerys,” Jon said, “Talk to me, please.” A pit had formed in his stomach; fear she would lose herself in her own mind if he did not stop her.

She looked up at him, as if suddenly remembering he had been in the room. She gave him a long look of sympathy, but said nothing more. Before he could speak again, she had opened her chamber doors, uttering commands to her soldiers in a foreign tongue. She had left then, leaving Jon without another word.

+

He had not seen her since that morning, and the day felt as if it had lasted a fortnight. In the dining hall that evening, he found Tyrion and Sansa eating supper. He saw Tyrion first; the mess of a man he had become. He reeked of alcohol, as he had all day. His clothing was stained in fingerprints of bacon grease. Sansa sat beside him sipping a mug of hot tea.

When Jon sat across from them, his sister slammed her mug onto the wooden table. She stood abruptly; glaring down at her brother before leaving the hall without a word.

“I do believe she saw you leaving the queen’s chambers this morning,” Tyrion said, noticing Jon’s confusion. He took a large swig of the wine before him. Jon stayed silent. “Not that I blame you… she’s only a murderous mad-woman, after all.” 

“She’s not,” he said, his fist clenched.

“No of course not,” Tyrion said, shaking his head sarcastically. He took a sip of his wine, then began to butter a piece of oat bread with a silver knife. He bit into the bread, chewing loudly. “Of course… only a mad-woman would let a man into her bed _after_ he killed her.” 

Jon slammed his fist on the table. “That’s enough.”

“I’m just warning you, what if her visions turn her against you?” the drunk man said, his words beginning to slur. “A vision just like Cersei’s wildfire, or Areo’s poison. I do wonder what poor fool will end up dead this time.” 

For a moment, a flicker of doubt crossed Jon’s mind, but he brushed it away. “I’ve had enough of this,” he said as he stood. 

Before he could go, Tyrion spoke. “Take this, Jon Snow,” he said, holding out the butter knife with a smirk, “You might need it again.”

+

She was waiting for him in his chambers that evening. She was in front of the fire, fingers pinching the skin between her brows. When she looked up, he realized she had been crying. He poured two drinks and handed her one, before joining her in front of the fire.

“My sister’s not happy about us,” he said. 

She smiled. “Was she ever?”  
“No… I guess not,” he smiled back, but his smile quickly fell. “Where have you been?”

“I can’t say… not yet,” She shook her head softly. “Not until I’m sure.”  
Her secrets had left Jon feeling uneasy. He struggled to push away the doubt they had formed in his mind. But when Daenerys kissed him, all doubt disappeared. 

He did not sleep that night, but watched the stone bricks of the roof above him. Tyrion’s words had not left him, nor his sister’s disapproval. Their conversations played over again in his mind. A pit had formed in his stomach, scaring away the prospect of sleep. 

Daenerys stirred beside him and he turned to her, watching the way her body rose and fell with her breath. The light from the fire trailed along her naked skin, and the scar on her chest caught his eye. Jon’s stomach twisted, and he swallowed away a lump in his throat. He reached out, gently running his thumb along the deep crevice that seemed as if it never healed. When he looked back at her face, her eyes were watching him. 

“Sorry,” he whispered, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”  
“Can’t sleep?” She asked him.

He shook his head, watching as her eyes grew heavy from exhaustion. When he thought she had fallen back asleep, he turned back to watching to ceiling.

“Jon?” She said, softly. “You shouldn’t worry about what your sister thinks.” 

He turned his face to hers. 

“I know you never wanted to rule,” she said. “But people followed you, because they believed in the path you made… not the path you let others make for you.” Her voice was slurred from sleep, and her eyelids began to droop once more. 

He smiled sadly. “Get some rest.”

+

The council meeting had not been unusual. Their discussions were normal; their tempers level-headed. But Daenerys’ had been withdrawn. Jon watched her intently from across the long table. Her eyes were glazed over, fixated on nothing. When she tried to engage herself, she would grimace in pain instead, massaging the sides of her head. Soon it became too much, and she sat with her head in her hands.

“My queen,” Grey Worm’s voice seemed to wake her from her trance. “Are you alright?”

She eyed the table around her, lingering on Jon. “Yes… I think that’ll be all for today,” she said. When she stood, she winced in pain and stumbled on her feet. Jon stood quickly, but Grey Worm’s arms were there to help her. 

Jon followed as the council shuffled out of the room. He headed back to his chambers, where he could at least collect his thoughts in silence. 

He heard her footsteps before he saw her. Sansa grabbed at the sleeve of his shirt; her voice was low, out of the ears of the guards. “Meet in the dungeons… now.”

+

She was pacing along the floors before the great dragon skull, the hem of her dress kicking up ash as she went. Jon was surprised to find her alone.

“Where’s Tyrion?” He asked.

She turned to him, her eyes filled with a storm of rage. “I warned you,” she said. 

He sighed. “Sansa… she’s not what you think,” he said.

“I told you that she was completely mad. And you refused to listen to me. Instead, you climbed into bed with the woman who is hell-bent on destroying our family.” Her fists were clenched in anger, words spat out of her like venom. 

Jon paused. “What are you talking about?” 

Sansa leaned back at his words. “She didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?” Jon asked; the pit had begun to form inside him once more.

His sister stepped towards him, eyes as cold as ice. “She’s holding Bran captive,” she said, “If she kills him…” 

Jon felt himself step back; mind reeling at her words. He could feel his heart beat louder in his chest, his face had gone cold. “Why?” he stuttered.

“I don’t know,” she said, reaching for her brother’s arms. “But Jon, he’s our _brother_. You have to stop her.”

+

He swung the door of the queen’s meeting room open, not minding to knock. She startled when he entered, lifting her head from her hands. Jon shut the door behind him, with more force than he intended.

“When were you going to tell me that you’re keeping my brother in a prison cell?” He asked. 

She looked surprised at his words. “I was going to tell you,” she said, her voice level, “But I had to be sure.”

She stood, crossing the room towards him. “I have to do this, Jon.” 

He watched her cautiously. “What are you going to do?” He asked, trying to keep his voice steady. 

“I thought my family was mad. I thought _I_ was mad, but it was _Bran_ ,” she said. A hint of a smile had formed on her lips, but Jon found himself filled with dread. 

“What?” he asked.

“My dreams… the visions… everything that I saw, everything Kinvara saw, _Bran_ was doing it,” she said. Her eyes had widened, her head shaking slightly at her words. “I don’t know how, but… he’s manipulating me, making me see things that aren’t there.” “How do you know?” Jon asked, but his body had gone cold as she spoke. 

She stepped closer to him. “I had a dream.. I saw my father. A _crow_ was speaking to him… a raven.”

Jon could not make sense of the words she spoke; his mind was a blur. When he did not speak, Daenerys stepped closer to him. She stood just in front of him, hopeful eyes gazing up at his. She reached up, placing a hand on the skin of his cheek. “I can end this, Jon,” she said, with a smile as warm as fire, but Jon felt nothing but cold. 

Her eyes studied his intently. He did not speak, for he could not form the words he was thinking. He pulled away slightly from her touch. 

Daenerys froze. Her face went cold; disappointment, shock, anguish flashed across her eyes.  
“You don’t believe me,” she said, stepping backwards from him. 

“He’s my brother, Dany,” he said quietly.

The warmth in her eyes had turned to anger. “You said yourself your brother’s been gone for years!” Her voice had raised, filling the small room.

She stepped forward, reaching desperately for him. Her fingers were small, but her grip was tight on his arms. “You don’t know what it’s like, Jon,” she said, pain seeping through her words. “I have no control over myself anymore… I’m afraid to sleep. My head aches all the time, I see things that aren’t there… I hear voices… I have to make it _stop_.”  
Daenerys moved closer, just inches from his face. Her fingers tightened on his arms as tears spilled over. “I want you to help me,” she said. Her eyes went cold as ice, and she dropped her hands. “But I will do it alone if I have to.”  
She brushed past him, heading towards the door. Jon’s breath had caught in his throat, his mind jumbled with fear and dread; anguish and sorrow. Jon knew that if he did not pick a side now, he would battle himself forever. Too long he had lived the lives that were given to him; the bastard of Winterfell, a brother of the Night’s Watch, a wildling, a king. She had been right; he could no longer rely on the words around him to choose his path for him. He must make his own. 

“No,” he called to her before she could leave, “We do it together.”


	15. The Three-Eyed Raven

Daenerys had been pacing the stone floors of her chambers for most of the afternoon. Her hair fell loosely at her sides; she had not bothered to have it braided. Her fingers gripped tightly at her scalp, desperate to relieve the pressure in her head. She sipped at a glass of wine, but no amount of alcohol would numb it away. Jon sat across the room from her on the edge of the bed. He watched her every move; cautious eyes following her every step. It was just the two of them, but the room was crowded with the whispers of a thousand voices.

 _The traitors want my city… but I’ll give them naught but ashes._

“I think you should wait,” Jon spoke over the noise of her mind, “At least until you can prove it.” 

She turned suddenly, her wine spilling sloppily over the edges of her glass. “ _I can’t wait any longer_ ,” she said, with more venom than she had intended.

_Let him be king over charred bones and cooked meat._

“Daenerys,” he said, “You have your mother’s journal and a dream… that’s not enough. They won’t believe you.”

_Let him be king of the ashes._

Dany placed her wine on the table beside her; her hands trembling too fiercely to hold it still. “They won’t believe me, anyway,” she said, “It doesn’t matter what proof I have. They will spread their whispers and call me mad behind my back, no matter what I do. It has to happen now.”

_Burn them all._

Jon fell quiet, gazing down at his hands. 

She stopped her pacing and turned to him. He had appeared so conflicted; so somber. “And you?” she asked.

“What about me?”

“Do you believe me?” She asked, trying not to let her voice sound too hopeful.

_Dracarys._

He sighed. “I don’t know what I believe, Dany,” he said, “He’s my brother.”

_Have you been down there? Have you seen? Little children burned!_

He must’ve felt her worry, for he spoke again. “But I trust you,” he said, quietly.

Daenerys took a moment to collect her breath. She squeezed her eyes shut; desperately trying to block out the noise that consumed her. When it didn’t work, she joined Jon at the foot of the bed. 

“Why?” she asked, quietly, when he had turned to face her. “Why do you trust me? I haven’t given you much reason to, as of late. What made you change your mind?”

He paused, thinking over his words before speaking. “I know who you are, Dany,” he said, “I’ve always known. And somewhere along the way, I let other people convince me that they knew you better than I did, but you were right; I need to follow my own path. And I might be wrong, but there’s a part of me that knows to trust you. I didn’t change my mind... I just stopped letting other people choose for me.”

_You are my queen, now and always._

Her scar ached with pain; her head collapsing in her hands. Jon reached out, taking one of her hands in his own. 

He squeezed her fingers gently, warm brown eyes gazing down at hers. “So do what you have to, Dany,” he said, “I’m with you.”

+

She waited for him at the top of the stairs, atop a wooden bench that had replaced the throne. The sun peered in through the grand windows, casting shadows of Westeros across the tile floors. Her breath was shallow and her palms had begun to sweat. She took a deep breath to calm her nerves; she must be strong. Jon and Grey Worm stood firmly on either sides, silent and unmoving.

He was brought in by Unsullied soldiers. They pushed his chair along the tile floors, the subtle groan of wheels echoed throughout the near-empty room. His face was calm, unnerved. 

_Burn them all._

Daenerys could feel her pulse take flight at the sight of the once-king. She stood, for her legs could not bare to be still any longer. 

“How long have you been manipulating me?” she asked, after a moment had passed.

Bran said nothing, but stared blankly towards her.

“Why me?” she asked him again, her jaw clenched. She was trying to remain calm, but her blood began to boil at the sight of his indifference. She began the walk down the flight of stairs towards his chair.

He blinked at her. “You have dragons, and a powerful army,” he said, “Targaryens have dreams, Priestesses see visions.. they’re easy to manipulate."

Dany stopped in her tracks. She felt her eyebrows raise slightly. “You don’t deny it?” she asked, shocked. She turned to meet Jon’s eyes. He nodded back at her, his face grim.

“There’s no reason to lie to you,” Bran said, “You already know the truth.”

When she turned back to him, his expression remained unchanged. “My family is dead because of you,” she spat through gritted teeth, “How many thousands had to die for your mind games?” Her voice had raised, filling the walls with her words.

He did not respond, but watched her, calmly. 

Her rage was growing inside her, threatening to pour over. She clenched her fists, trying to choke it down. “Why?” she asked him. Again, he did not respond. “ _Why?_ ” she spoke louder now.

“It doesn’t matter now,” he said.

Dany shook her head, her heart beating in her ears. “No…” she said, “I suppose it doesn’t.” 

_Dracarys._

She turned to her guards, who had stood firmly by Bran’s side. “Take him to the dragon pit,” she said before turning around. They began to escort him out, the wheel of his chair squeaked once more. She did not meet Jon’s eyes; she bared her anger alone. The hall was quiet, save for the clicking of her heels on the tile floor, and the squeak of the chair as it faded away.

A wave of uncertainty washed over her. The air felt different, eerie. The hair on her arms stood when she realized how quiet it had become. Her head was clear; there were no voices.

“Stop,” she called to her soldiers before they could leave.

She turned back to face Bran in his chair. She squinted. “You know I’m going to kill you,” she said, starting towards him once more, “And yet, you don’t object… why?”

Bran turned his head to her. “Would it change anything if I did?” he asked.

“Maybe… maybe not,” she said. She was closer to him now, her face towering just over his. “Or maybe, you know that killing you won’t stop you. If I kill Bran Stark, you’ll just find someone else to inhabit… and then I’ll never be rid of you.”

He smiled then. “I’ve always admired how smart you are, Daenerys” he said.

She clenched her jaw. “So perhaps I won’t kill you,” she said, “Perhaps I will ship you to the farthest corner of this world, where you can’t torment me anymore. You will rot in a cell, where you will never use me, or anyone else, to hurt another living soul again.”

He was quiet, his head turning away from her gaze. His eyes wandered along the great stained glass window before him. “Don’t you want to know what I think?” he asked. 

Daenerys opened her mouth to speak, but Bran’s eyes turned white as snow. She turned to Jon, who matched her confusion. For a moment, no one spoke, and the hall was as quiet as a grave. 

Somewhere in the distance, a dragon roared.

The windows shattered, sending sharp streaks of colored glass bursting throughout the room. Daenerys fell, shielding her head with her arms. 

The dragon had landed on the floor of the throne room, massive ruby wings outstretched, rubble falling where they touched. His eyes were white as winter. 

Jon had reached her then, pulling her to her feet. “ _Meli,_ ” she called, “ _Stop!_ ” But the dragon was not in control. His jaws unclenched, bearing long shards of sharp teeth. A deep roar of fire began to build from deep within his throat.

Jon pulled her back, his hands grasping her arms tightly. “We have to move,” he yelled. 

“No,” Daenerys struggled against his grip, “ _No!_ ” She called once more, but it was too late. Flames engulfed Bran in his chair, along with the guards nearby. Jon fell on top of her, the heat of the fire inching towards them. 

When it was done, the dragon shook his head, his eyes black once more. He backed away, taking flight over the city below.

Dust and rubble fell around Daenerys as she stood to her feet; warmth draining from her skin. Her hands trembled against Jon’s arms. A pile of burnt corpses and ash was all that had remained of Brandon Stark. She stepped forward, smoke rising from the heat of the floor. Her boots crunched against broken glass and a tear trickled down her cheek. 

“Dany,” Jon called, but she did not respond.

_Burn them all._

Her forehead swelled in pain and she gripped her head tightly in her hands. Her knees buckled beneath her, dropping her to the tile floor. The world began to fade; pain and smoke clouded her vision. She heard Jon’s voice, muffled in the distance, his shadow crouching over her. 

The world went black.

+

_The sun shined down, warming her skin with its touch. Wisps of grass tickled her feet as she stepped through a field of flowers, blue as the sky. She recognized this dream from her mother's journal. She started forward, to the center of the field where the flowers parted. There was no baby, but a small clump of pearlescent scales._

_“Rūklon?” Daenerys said as she neared. The dragon was as small as it had been when it first hatched, no larger than a cat._

_“What are you doing here, sweetling?” she called, but the dragon did not stir. Clouds covered the sun as she approached, leaving the world in darkness. Her body went cold when she saw the thick puddle of blood beneath the dragon. It seeped out of her, tainting her white scales with dark red. Dany reached for Rūklon, but the dragon’s body was cold and unmoving._

_She wanted to cry, but the grass turned to dirt around her; a winter breeze swarmed the air. The flowers had gone. In their place, the thick, gnarled roots of the cold hallway. She stood, trapped once more in the winter dream._

_Daenerys reached for the torch on the wall in a haste, turning quickly towards the door she knew would be at the end. When she reached it, she pushed into the dark red wood with all her strength._

_“It won’t open,” a voice called from behind her. She turned suddenly, her breath catching in her throat._

_From the darkness, surrounded by the winter winds, stood Bran._


	16. The Soldier

Jon was eyeing Tyrion intently, watching as he drank himself into a stupor. He reached his third glass of wine before Samwell Tarly entered the queen’s meeting room.

“What news?” Jon asked, looking up from the table.

The maester’s chains rattled as he entered. “She’s the same,” he said, “We are keeping her fed with honey and water, but she hasn’t woken. I will send for you when she does.”

Jon nodded solemnly. “Thank you, Sam,” he said.

Tyrion, who had been all but silent, spoke once the maester had left the room. “I’m assuming you called me here because you want my help.” 

Jon crossed his hands on the table before him. “Did you have other plans besides drinking yourself to death?” 

Tyrion frowned. “No, I suppose not,” he said, drinking once more from the goblet in his hands. “I’m sorry about your brother.”

“That wasn’t my brother,” Jon said.

“So you believe her then?” Tyrion asked, seemingly amused. 

Jon paused, looking out the window to his left. The dragons had been roaming the skies aimlessly, their shadows dancing along the rooftops of buildings below them. “You would too,” he said, “If you had seen what I did.” 

“But you’re also Targaryen, aren’t you?” Tyrion said jokingly, “What if you’re all mad?” He chuckled, reaching once more for the pitcher of wine in the center of the table. Before he could refill his glass, Jon pulled it away. 

“That’s enough,” Jon said with a huff. “You’re lucky I don’t have your tongue cut out. Now I’m offering you a choice out of respect for you, but don’t push it. I need you to help me, and you’re no good to me drunk.” 

“Careful, Jon Snow,” Tyrion said, squinting, “You’re starting to sound like a king again.” 

Jon said nothing, but stared at the man before him. His eyebrows furrowed. 

Tyrion sighed, placing his goblet down on the table with a clunk. “Fine,” he said, “What would you have me do?”

“You governed this city before, you know the council,” Jon said, “I need you to take the queen’s place until she’s better.” 

“What if she doesn’t get better?” Tyrion asked.

“She will,” Jon said firmly. 

Tyrion leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s interesting,” he started, “If Bran is as evil as the queen claims… why did the Night King want him dead?” 

“I don’t know,” Jon said, “He was human once… maybe he was trying to warn us.”

“Perhaps,” Tyrion said, “But you did say he wanted you dead too, didn’t you? Are you evil too, Jon Snow?” 

Jon smiled half-heartedly. He was joking, he knew, but he could not help the shudder that crept up his spine. He had remembered the Night King, the way his blue eyes pierced through him from afar. He had wanted Jon dead, that much was true. Perhaps he would never know why. 

Jon stood, heading towards the door. Before he left, he turned back to Tyrion. “I know you want to give up,” he said, “It’s easy to drink and forget everything around you. But we all played a part to get us here… and now it’s our duty to make it right.”

+

_A small fire crackled, filling the tent in a cloud of warmth and smoke. The embers swirled the air, mingling with the smell of dirt and horses. There was a girl there, knelt alone by the fire. Her long, silver hair fell loosely at her sides; tears streaked down each cheek. Daenerys watched as she held her dragon egg to the light of the flames, fingers grazing along the black scales._

_“A Targaryen alone in the world,” Bran’s voice rang from behind her shoulder, “A terrible thing.”_

_“Why am I seeing this?” Dany asked._

_“You were but a child,” he said, “When your own brother sold you away.”_

_Daenerys watched in silence, overwhelmed with pity for the girl she had once been. The girl sniffled back tears, eyes lit with the orange light of the flame._

_Bran placed a hand on Dany’s shoulder. “A child’s first memories should be those of joy, and playfulness. And yet, your first years in this world were spent running from the ghosts of your past; never knowing true family. You were the final victim of a war you took no part in.”_

_She pulled back from his touch, stepping away from the man beside her. “A war_ you _started,” she said._

_“I merely sent the whispers, Daenerys,” he said, “I took no action; I did not need to. People will always act upon their worst impulses, if given the chance. I needn’t lift a finger. They will destroy themselves in war just to prove a point.”_

_“And you?” Dany asked, “What point are you trying to prove?”_

_He gestured to the girl across from them. Her tears had taken her strength, and she rested her head on the pillow beside her, eyelids drooping._

_“The pain you felt… how many thousands live with that pain every day? People are vile; they are selfish and cruel by nature. They spread their suffering through this world like a plague. I can end it, and I will. And you’re going to help me.”_

_Daenerys pulled away, the walls of the hut beginning to tremble and quake around them._

_“I will not,” she said._

+

Sam had sent word that she had awoken, but Jon did not feel relief. Instead, dread filled him to the brim as he took the stone steps to her chambers. His fears were confirmed when he heard her shouts fill the halls.

“ _Make it stop!_ ” Her voice bounced across the stone walls, growing louder as Jon neared the room. 

She was standing in the center of the room; unlike how Jon had last seen her, asleep in her bed. Her dressing gown swayed loosely; her hair tangled and disheveled. When Jon grew closer, he saw how sunken her eyes had become. She clutched her hands to her ears, crouching over in pain.

Maester Tarly stood near her, watching hesitantly. Servants surrounded her from all sides as if afraid she would take off. 

“Tell them to stop ringing those bells at once, or I will _make them stop_ ,” she hissed.

The room was silent, the city below quiet as if it was the middle of the night. 

“There are no bells, your grace,” one of the servant girls said, her voice meek and feeble. Daenerys’ eyes darted towards her, confusion spreading across her face. 

“Daenerys,” Jon said, starting towards her. When her eyes met his, they flooded with terror. She eyed his hands, though they fell empty at his sides. 

“Stay away from me,” she said, backing towards the wall, “He’s going to kill me.” 

“Dany, no. It’s me,” he started, but she began to scream, clawing at her ears for the bells to stop once more.

Jon looked to Sam, who spoke to the servants. “We’ll give her milk of the poppy, let her rest.” 

“ _No!_ ” Daenerys yelled, fighting and thrashing against their restraints. “No please.. I don’t want to sleep.”

Jon watched in terror, the color draining from his face, as they pinned her down. 

“I don’t want to sleep,” she repeated, but her voice trailed off, her eyes closing softly. When it was done, they carried her back to her bed, tucking her gently under the furs. 

Jon was left in silence.

+

_The soft purr of the baby dragons filled the small room. The sun had begun to set over the city of Qarth, painting their scales in an orange glow. They bickered over small chunks of goat meat; tiny puffs of flame filling the air around them. Daenerys smiled at the two smaller dragons, watching as green and creme colored scales fought over the treat. Her laughter bubbled over, the warmth of her dragons’ fire seeming to radiate from within her. When she reached to pet them, she could feel the smooth surface of their scales; the heat that grew from inside them. Rhaegal and Viserion; how she had missed them._

_Missed them? They were right in front of her, real as can be, yet she couldn’t help the sadness that crept in._

_“They’re gone, Daenerys,” Bran’s voice echoed from behind her. She turned suddenly, her memories flooding back. Her dragons were not here, she was not in this room; it had been years since this day in Qarth._

_Dany turned back, but it was too late. The dragons had vanished, leaving nothing but the stones of the window ledge. Grief clawed at her, threatening to rip a hole in her chest._

_“Give them back,” she said, her voice strained with sorrow, “Let me see them.”_

_“I can’t,” he said, stepping towards her, “They’re dead.”_

_She turned from him, blinking away the tears before they could spill over._

_He spoke once more, his voice calm and flat. “Viserion died, trying to prove a point to Cersei, which she ignored anyway. Rhaegal was killed in a senseless act of violence. How trivial problems seem in the face of death; how little their lives meant above human bickering.”_

_Daenerys shook her head, her tears welling once more. “If you’re trying to make me angry, it’s working,” she said._

_“You should be angry,” he said, “You want to defend people, but they are the reason your children are dead.”_

_She stepped to the balcony, placing her hands on the cold stones. Her tears had dried on her cheeks; she was left with a numbness that spread like frost._

+

Her breaths were long and deep; her chest rising and falling with the air in her lungs. Jon watched the movement from the corner of his sight, but his mind was fixated on the journal in his hands. He sat on the edge of her bed, clutching the leather-bound book. He had read the words twice over. Stories of the mad king filled him with dread, but stories of his wife left him with sorrow.

Jon had not known she had woken, and he startled at the sound of her voice.

“Jon?” she said softly, her voice raspy from sleep.

He reached for her hand, hesitant to frighten her once more, but her face remained calm. A wooden bucket sat beside her bed that held the remnants of the day’s food. Whatever she ate, she could not keep down. The lack of food had left her cheeks hollow, her eyes sunken in. Even so, she smiled gently at the sight of Jon beside her. 

“I was reading your mother’s journal,” he said, placing the book on her bedside table, “I’m sorry you never knew her.”

She smiled, but her eyes were sad. “You never knew your mother, either,” she said. 

Jon shook his head, looking down at their hands, squeezing her fingers gently in his.

Before he could speak again, her eyes had closed, her breath steady once more. Jon hadn’t realized how exhausted he had become; his eyelids weighed heavy. He crossed the opposite side of the bed, joining her in sleep.

+

The unsullied soldier walked quickly through the halls of the Red Keep; leaving no sound. When he reached the queen’s chambers, the guards posted outside parted for his entrance. He had orders from the commander, he had said; a delivery for the queen.

Once inside, he squinted to see through the dark of the night, the queen’s candles burning low. He rested his spear against the wall, careful not to disturb the silence. His helmet came off first, then the skin of his face. _The dragon queen will see my face when I kill her._

Arya stepped lightly, her footsteps silent on the stone floors. As she grew closer to the edge of the bed, locks of silver hair came into view from underneath the furs. She unsheathed her dagger, gripping the hilt tightly between her fingers. The queen stirred slightly, the furs rustling with her movement. Arya paused, but continued when she was still once more. 

A speck of white caught her eye from the corner of the room. Arya glanced at the wall, where a sword leaned on the stone. The pummel was that of a white wolf.

Arya turned back to the bed, noticing the queen had not been alone. For on the other side of the queen, with one protective arm strung over her body, lay Jon. 

She stopped in her tracks, her breath caught in her throat. Her gasp had been too loud, she knew, and Jon sat up quickly. 

His expression was that of shock, then confusion. When he saw the dagger she held, it turned quickly to anger.


	17. The Meadow

_The cell was cold and damp; a soft trickling of water on stone filled the near-silent air. Missandei sat alone, her back against the mossy rock. Her hands were bound in metal chains; her outfit mussed with dirt and blood._

_“No one knows the wrongdoings of men quite like her,” Bran said, watching the girl as she sat alone._

_Daenerys knelt beside her, placing one hand on the skin of her cheek, but Missandei did not feel her touch._

_“She was a slave her whole life,” Dany said sadly, “She died a slave as well.”_

_Bran nodded. “Another senseless death.”_

_Missandei turned to the wall, a sharp-edged rock gripped between her fingers. She carved small letters into the stone, her grip turning her knuckles white._

_“She wouldn’t have wanted this,” Daenerys said, standing to face Bran, “Her heart was always pure. No matter what they’d done to her, she would never wish her suffering upon others.”_

_“But wouldn’t you?” Bran said, his eyes following her every move, “When your dragon attacked King’s Landing, was it for power? Or vengeance?”_

_Missandei carved away, the gentle scraping of stone revealing the letters behind her hand._ Dracarys. __

_“I did what I did,” Daenerys said, “Because you manipulated me into believing I had no other choice.”_

_“You did,” Bran nodded, “But had there been no trap, no wildfire… would you have done it regardless?”_

_Daenerys stepped back, awestruck. “_ No _,” she said, firmly._

_“Admit it, Daenerys,” he said, stepping towards her, “You relished in the feeling of vengeance. Every brick that fell from the Red Keep, was like a stitch in a wound.”_

_Rage filled her, blood boiling at his words. Her hands trembled, and the walls of the cell did as well. Dirt fell from above as the vision shook around them._

_“I’ve heard enough of this,” she said, “Let me go.”_

_“They deserved it, Daenerys,” he said, “You know it’s true. Soon you will see.”_

_Missandei disappeared, and Bran, along with the cell around them. The stones were replaced by the great roots of a tree; winter winds swept through the hall.  
It was different this time, she knew. The winds were cold and strong, the dark roots gnarled and twisted, but something was awry. Over the whistle of the storm, she could hear a gentle hum, like the soft flutter of a baby dragon’s wings. She strained to hear, but the whispers beckoned her towards the end of the hall. _

_The door stood before her once more. Daenerys rushed forward, pulling and pushing the handle with all her might, but it would not budge._

+

Jon paced the floors of the chamber room. His anger was consuming him; rage threatened to boil over. He clenched his fists, digging his nails into the skin of his palm; an attempt to calm himself. It did not work.

“ _Arya?_ ” His voice filled the small room, “ _Arya_ was your master plan?” 

His sisters sat across from him. They had been near silent, watching him fold in on himself. Sansa looked exhausted, with dark bags underneath her blue eyes. 

“I asked you not to try anything,” Jon continued, “Not only did you disobey me, but you risked both of your lives to do so. If she had been awake-” 

“We were trying to save you,” Arya said.

“That’s not your choice to make!” Jon hissed. They flinched as his voice raised.

“Not our choice?” Sansa said, standing from her chair. “She killed Bran!”

“Bran’s been dead for years, Sansa. You know it, just as well as I do. If you had bothered to listen to me, even for a second, you would know it.” 

She did not respond, but shook her head softly. Tears of anger had filled her eyes to the brim. 

“You betrayed me once before, and I forgave you,” Jon said, “I killed the woman I love because I thought she’d hurt you two. I held her in my arms and watched her die, for _you_. And I couldn’t even grieve her in my own home, with my family, because you didn’t fight for me after I had fought for you. I gave up everything for the two of you, and what did I get for it? You _exiled_ me, like the bastard I am.”

“Jon, no…” Arya spoke softly, stepping lightly towards him. “You’re our brother.”

“Ay, I’m your brother,” Jon huffed, “That’s what you two love to remind me… right before you go behind my back and do something that’ll destroy me!”

“Jon,” Sansa said, “I know you love her, but we have to stick together. It’s only us now; _the pack survives_ , remember?”

A dragon roared outside, a dash of bright red scales passed across the window. Jon struggled to keep his breath steady, watching as its wings soared over the city. His heart pounded loudly in his ears.

“No,” he said after a moment. “Keep your pack, you’ve made it clear I’m not a part of it.”

He turned back to them, pain reflecting in the eyes of his sisters. 

Arya started to speak, but Jon interrupted. “You will leave this city; return to Winterfell, it doesn’t matter. But if I ever see you in King’s Landing again, I will tell Daenerys what you did. And if she chooses to punish you, this time I won’t stop her.”

Sansa’s tears had overflowed, they streaked down her cheeks in slick paths. Her eyes were red, her face blotchy. He had destroyed them both, he knew. Their hurt hung in the air of the room like a cloud of mist. 

“Jon-“ Sansa started. 

“Goodbye, Sansa,” Jon said, turning on his heels to leave. In a short walk, he had left their chambers; leaving his sisters behind.

He did not look back.

+

_The dining hall was filled with laughter; the warmth of ale and the wafting smell of hot supper. Everyone was bruised and exhausted, but their smiles spread wide. They had survived the long night; the army of the dead had been defeated. From her chair in front of the fire, Daenerys watched the celebration once more._

_It was a dream, yes, but she had felt the same as she had that day long ago: like she was watching her own life from the outside. The people grouped together, laughing amongst themselves, and no group had room for her. Daenerys had never felt more alone in her life, and she was forced to relive it all now._

_When Jon turned to her, a spark ignited inside her, but it died as quickly as it came. He turned away once more, and she was left alone._  
_Bran was nowhere in sight, at least not the one she had known. The Bran of that day sat in his chair, on his opposite side of the great hall. He paid her no mind._

_Perhaps he had no need to be here; the vision spoke for itself. All she had sacrificed for them, all she had lost, and still they did not care. No one thanked her, or comforted her. No one even bothered to sit beside her._

_She did feel different than that day, however. She felt ill, her stomach turned at the sight of the food before her. She wondered if Bran had added this to her dream, or if her sleeping body was warning her of something._

_A flash of white caught her eye from across the great hall. Between the masses of people, she caught a glimpse of silver hair. A woman stared back at her, one she had seen in a vision before. Her expression was somber; concern and longing flashed across her eyes._

_“Mother?” Daenerys whispered, straining her eyes to see a length away, but the woman was gone._

+

Maester Tarly stood hunched over the bed when Jon entered. The room was lit with only candles, the moonlight peering through the arches of the windows. She lay under the furs, as still as stone. Jon would’ve thought she was a corpse, had it not been for the subtle rise and fall of air in her chest.

“How long has it been?” Jon asked as he approached the foot of the bed.

“Since she last woke?” Sam said, “A couple days, I believe.” 

Jon felt his stomach sink. Her cheeks had begun to hollow, her eyes sunken in. “What do we do?” he asked.

“I fear for her health if she does not wake soon,” Sam said, wringing a cloth of water. “Honey and water will not satisfy her body much longer.”

Jon sighed, but said nothing. His chest felt heavy, and he struggled to breath. 

“Would you mind taking watch?” Sam asked.

“Of course, Sam,” Jon said, his voice somber. “Thank you for your help.”

The maester packed his things onto the wooden cart, wheeling it towards the door. 

“Sam?” Jon called, “Can I ask where you’re going?”

“The library,” he replied, “I’ve seen books on the Children of the Forest… Bran mentioned them after he had gone north. I want to see if they mention the Three-Eyed Raven.” 

Jon nodded, watching as his friend left the room. He squeezed Dany’s hand; her fingers pale and clammy. She did not stir.

+

_Daenerys took the torch from the wall, the wind threatening to kill its flame. She turned, heading quickly down the long hallway. The roots seemed to twist tighter as she passed. The wind was as cold as ice, it numbed her face and made her eyes well with tears._

_She startled when Bran appeared in front of her, his eyes dark and still. “You can’t run from this, Daenerys,” he said._

_She pushed past him, her feet seemingly heavier by the second. The winds howled in the tunnel, the snows outside grew fierce. A child’s laughter… footsteps on snow… the fluttering of dragon wings._

_When she reached the door, she fell into it. All the weight of her body did nothing; the door again did not budge. She began to cry, her tears freezing on her cheeks._

_“Let me out!” she yelled, her voice swallowed by the whistle of the wind. She pounded her fists into the solid wood, over and over again until her skin split and she bled. Her blood mingled with the red paint of the door, yet still it did not move. It was solid as a stone wall, and Daenerys would be trapped forever._

_The walls of the tunnel began to creak and groan; they trembled with her tears. When she turned, bright sunlight blinded her, and she held her arm up to shield her eyes. Long stalks of grass tickled the skin of her legs, and she stepped forward. It was the meadow; warm as a summer day. All trace of winter had gone, and bright blue flowers bloomed where the snow had once settled._

_Her eyes wandered, looking for Bran, but he was nowhere in sight. She started forward, hesitant to find Rūklon’s body amongst the flowers, as she had before. This time however, the baby dragon lay peacefully atop stalks of green grass. Her breath was shallow, but her heart beat fiercely beneath pearlescent wings._

_Daenerys reached down, placing a hand gently on the dragon’s scales. A white flower in a sea of blue; a lone cloud in an ocean sky. Dany felt something inside her stir, like a soft flutter of tiny wings._

_A branch snapped behind her, and she spun around, but it was not Bran. Instead, a woman stood above her. Her hair was long, and white as the dress she wore. Daenerys stood to face her, as a gentle breeze blew between them. The woman stepped forward, and slowly placed a soft hand on Dany’s stomach._

_Her voice rang bright through the vision, a chiming bell in the summer air. “You can save her,” she said. Dany knew she did not mean the dragon._

+

The council had left the room empty, save for Tyrion. He sat across from Jon now, his fingers tapping impatiently on the wood of the table.

“She has to wake soon,” Tyrion said.

“That’s helpful,” Jon said, sarcastically. 

“I am trying my best,” the lord said. He had limited himself to one glass this time, and the lack of wine showed in his temper. “But it’s been too long. The council is growing restless.”

Jon sighed, pinching the skin of his brow between his fingers. “You don’t think I know that?” he asked. “Now I asked you to help, not for you, but because I thought you were the best chance to unite the kingdoms in the queen’s absence. If you can’t do that, what do I need you for?” 

“I am _trying_ ,” Tyrion said, his hand pressed firmly to the table’s surface. “The north is growing restless; Dorne is knocking at our door. They haven’t forgotten the death of their prince, they’re just waiting for their chance to retaliate. What happens when they find out the queen’s not here? How soon before they march for the capital?” 

“We have three dragons,” Jon said.

“Yes, burn them all. _That_ will make for a lasting alliance, I’m sure,” Tyrion said, his eyes rolled. 

“Can’t you talk to them? Make them see?” Jon asked. His patience was wearing thin, but even more so, exhaustion overwhelmed him. 

“I’ve tried,” Tyrion said, “But I’m not queen of the Seven Kingdoms. They want to talk to the _queen_.” He paused, his eyes intent on Jon’s face. “I’ve done this before with Bran when he was absent, it doesn’t work. Stalling won’t last. The Seven Kingdoms need a _leader_.”

“And they have one,” Daenerys said, her voice ringing across the walls of the room. They both turned to her, watching in silence as she entered.

She was no longer in her dressing robes, instead she wore a sleek black dress with a red cape strung across her right shoulder. Her eyes were tired and her cheeks still hollow, but her hair was braided back, a crown perched atop her head.

She eyed Tyrion, squinting at the man across the room from her. “Why is he here?” she asked.

Jon did not respond, for the sight of her had taken the words from him. 

She shook her head. “No matter,” she said, taking her place at the table beside Jon. Maester Tarly entered the room, a stack of books held in his hands.

“We might have found a way to destroy the Three-Eyed Raven for good,” he said. “Killing Bran did not stop him, right? Because Bran was not the source of his magic.”

“And what is the source of his magic?” Jon asked.

“It has to be something living, something that only he knows of,” Sam continued. 

Daenerys spoke. “Before I was resurrected, but after I died, I had a vision. I saw the tunnels of a cavern, with walls of tree roots. I’ve had this same dream nearly every night since. I never knew what it meant, until I told Sam.”

Sam opened a book, flipping quickly through the pages. He stopped on an old ink drawing of a tree, a face carved into its bark. 

“That’s a weirwood tree,” Jon said.

“Precisely,” Sam said, his eyes bright with the realization, “Bran told me that beyond the wall, he found the Three-Eyed Raven in a cave, under the roots of a weirwood tree. If this tree is the source of his magic, destroying it could mean destroying him.” 

He slammed the book shut, dust swarming the air. Jon turned to Daenerys, a hint of a smile had formed on her lips. 

“Will it work?” Jon asked.

“It’s worth a shot,” she replied.

“And do you know where this tree is?” Tyrion asked Sam.

“I believe I do.”

“Good,” Daenerys said, pushing her chair out from the table. “I’ll leave tomorrow.”

Jon took her wrist before she could go. “I’m coming with you,” he said. Before she could object, he spoke again. “We do it together.”

She smiled. “Fine,” she said. “We leave at dawn, _together_.”

Daenerys stood, dusting her hands on the fabric of her skirt. Her mood shifted suddenly, and she seemed uneasy. “Maester Tarly, may I speak with you alone?” she asked. He followed her out, leaving Tyrion alone with Jon once more. 

Tyrion tapped his fingers on the table. He broke the silence. “Magic and three-eyed ravens… it’s all a bit much for me, wouldn’t you agree?” he asked. “Then again, you were resurrected, with magic, were you not?” 

“I don’t ask questions,” Jon said. In truth, he did not want the answer. 

Tyrion sat back in his chair, the wine in his cup swirling in his hands. “So Daenerys saw a tree.. what did you see? When you were dead, of course.”

Jon’s fingers twirled in front of him. “Nothing,” he said, “Just darkness.”

Tyrion frowned, sipping once more at the cup in his hands. 

Jon swallowed away the fear that risen in his throat. Jon did not lie, for he did not remember completely. It had been years since his death, another lifetime almost. His mind was jumbled; whether it was darkness he saw, or the dark black feathers of a crow.

+

Daenerys watched as her dragons swarmed the air above the city; the moonlight dancing across their scales. Her head ached, but she brushed the pain away. Her stomach wrenched as nerves consumed her. She would not sleep that night, she knew. Instead she watched the horizon, waiting for the sun to make its entrance.

She did not notice Jon had entered until he was standing beside her. He offered her wine, but she shook her head.

“You look strong,” he said, hopeful.

Daenerys turned to him; the light of the moon hit the side of his face. “I kept Tyrion and Sansa on my council, though I could barely stand to look at them, because I believed the Lord of Light wanted them to help me build a new world. Now I know, it was because Bran wanted me to use them to tear the kingdoms apart. Why would I want Tyrion’s help now?”

“Tyrion is here,” Jon said, “Because we need him."

She did not want to be angry with him, but she felt her skin crawl. “He betrayed me,” she said. “He told me I was mad like my father. He hates me, Jon. And you expect me to trust him?”

Jon sighed. ”The lords of Westeros know him,” he said. “They’ve worked with him.. they trust him. And they don’t trust you. Not yet. If you’re going to unite the people, you need their lords to follow you. He’s the only one who can convince them to.” 

Before she could argue, he spoke again. “You don’t have to trust him,” he said. “Hells, you don’t have to like him. But you need him, Daenerys.”

She turned back to the balcony, her heart in her throat. He was right, she knew, though she didn’t want to admit it. 

The nerves crept in once more. Above her heart, she heard the fluttering of a dragon’s wings. She wanted to tell him then; tell him what she knew, but she could not bring herself to say the words aloud. Speaking them could curse them, and she would not risk it, not yet.

“What if it doesn’t work?” she asked quietly, her face to the sea. 

Jon knew she was no longer speaking of Tyrion. “It will,” he said. “And if it doesn’t, we’ll find another way.”

She turned to him. His steadiness was an anchor, but her nerves battled against it. “And if it does?” she asked. “I save Westeros from a threat they never knew existed.. and then what? They cheer for me? Wave dragon banners and rejoice?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm. “I am the mad queen.. that’s all they’ll ever know.”

“No, it’s not,” he said, taking her hand in his. “They’ll see in time, I know they will. It won’t happen right away, and it won’t be easy, but we’ll convince them.”

Jon held her face gently; his hands rough, but warm. “How are you so sure?” she asked in a whisper.

“I misjudged you.. just like they did,” he said, “But I see you for what you are now, and they will too.” He touched his forehead to hers, and she let her eyes close. 

When he spoke again, she looked up at him. His eyes were glassy, but warm and brown. They gazed into hers; the moonlight sparking them like a flame. “They’ll love you, like I love you,” he said.

She let his arms wrap around her, nestling her in a safety she had never known. They waited for the sun together.


	18. The Dragon and the Wolf

The white dragon was fast, but Meli was faster. Jon gripped the dragons’s red scales tightly as they soared through the air. Rūklon chased behind, bright white wings like clouds in the sky. Jon laughed at the youngest dragon as it struggled to keep pace. 

The sun beamed down on the top of his head, warming his skin. Soon it was blocked out, leaving him in darkness. Drogon soared over the smaller dragons and Jon, leaving them in the shadow of his massive wingspan. He looked up as Daenerys glanced back at him, her smile as warm as the sun on his face. 

The warm weather had lasted until they reached the wall. The winds picked up, as Jon gazed down on the streak of blue ice through the land. The sun vanished behind a group of clouds, and the air chilled. Soon, the winds had picked up so fiercely that the dragons struggled to fly straight. They battled the winds; the clouds growing dark around them. Flecks of snow whipped at Jon’s face, clinging to the hairs of his beard. Through the storm, he could barely make out Drogon’s descent, but he followed nonetheless. They were near to the ground now, and the winds were just as strong, but their sight had cleared some. 

Daenerys found it first; the red of its leaves stood stark against the white snow. Long twisted branches reached fingers to the sky, with bark as white as Rūklon’s scales. They hovered, and for a moment it felt as if the face in the bark stared back at them, and time stood still. 

It all happened quickly then, Meli jolted abruptly beneath Jon. At first he thought it was the strength of the wind, but the distress in Dany’s eyes said otherwise. Jon gripped tightly to the red scales, but the dragon kicked wildly, flying in a course towards the ground. As it neared the snow, Jon pulled upwards, but Meli disobeyed. He shook his body fiercely, and Jon’s grip loosened on the scales. Soon, the dragon was no longer beneath him, and Jon met the ground in a roll that sent a jolt of pain through his leg and back. 

Blood trickled from his nose, melting the snow beneath him in drops of dark red. Daenerys called out; for Jon or for the dragon, he did not know. He could not hear over the ringing in his ears. He could not stand, pain sliced through his body like a sword. Meli roared at him, a fierce blow of hot breath that mingled with the arctic winds of the storm. His eyes white as snow, the dragon no longer controlled himself. He took flight once more, but he did not head for Daenerys. Instead, he clashed with Rūklon in the skies, ripping streaks of red blood through the dragon’s white scales. The youngest dragon cried in pain, but battled back. They tore at each other; blood raining from the skies above. 

“ _Dany!_ ” Jon called over the vicious winds. “ _Now!_ ” 

Daenerys tore her focus from the dragons in the air. She set her eyes on the weirwood tree in front of her, and Drogon did as well. 

“ _Dracarys,_ ” she said quickly, her voice near inaudible over the storm. Jon shielded his face from the heat of the fire as it spewed from the dragon’s mouth. 

The tree was engulfed in the flame, each red leaf evaporating into smoke and embers. The white bark turned a charcoal black, and branches cracked and fell to the earth.

When it was done, a black plume of smoke rose through the air where the tree once stood. Rūklon cried out in pain, Meli’s eyes still white as snow as he clawed at the youngest dragon’s neck. With the strength left in him, Jon raised his eyes to Daenerys as the realization hit her face; it did not work. 

Jon’s stomach lurched, but confirmed a fear he had already known. He breathed in slowly, steadying his heart in chest. He had gotten them this far; it was enough. Yes, it was enough.

He turned once more to Daenerys, opening his mouth to call to her, but she was still as stone. 

She sat atop her dragon, unmoving, her eyes white as the snow around her.

+

_The snow sliced at her cheeks, freezing the water where tears had formed. “_ It didn’t work, _” She cried. “_ Why didn’t it work? _” Her voice echoed through the halls of the tunnel. The wind had picked up fiercely, the snows chilled her skin. The red door stood in front of her, looming over the darkness of the hallway. She kicked it, hoping her frustration would break the wooden planks. It did not budge. Somewhere behind the unmoving door, she heard Rūklon’s roars of pain._

_“Of course it didn’t work,” Bran’s voice said from behind her._

_She turned suddenly, anger boiling inside her like molten rock._

_“How easy was it for you,” he spoke. His voice was calm and flat. “To burn down a tree you never knew existed; a piece of earth you had no love for?”_

_Daenerys was puzzled. The snow had clung to her eyelashes, clouding her vision._

_He noticed the confusion on her face, and spoke again. “A tree, north of the wall, half a world away…” He stepped towards her. “Hardly a sacrifice to make.”_

_“What are you saying?” she asked._

_“Isn’t it obvious?” He blinked at her. “I put my strength in something I knew you could never harm.”_

_Daenerys paused. Her heart was beating so loudly in her ears, she could barely hear her own thoughts. Why would his magic be in something so expendable? So easily destroyed? Her body went colder than the snow._

_“Jon,” she said, her voice trembled as the name escaped her lips. His resurrection; the night king; why she had been told to summon him to Dragonstone. They were meant to be married since before they were born, but war sent them to opposite ends of the world. Somehow, they found their way back to each other—whether it be fate, chance, or whispers of a raven—but their lives had always been mirrored, she knew. The dragon and the wolf had been on a collision course since the start of time. Bran saw this, and he used it._

_“No,” she said, the word barely escaped her lips._

_“It’s alright, Daenerys,” Bran said, gesturing towards the long hallway before them. “You don’t have to do it.”_

_A small door opened before them, letting in sharp rays of warm light. Daenerys stepped through, the sky opening above her. The sun had nearly set on the horizon, and the waterfalls were lit with an orange and pink light. The mist from the falls kissed the skin of her cheeks as she stepped forward, her boots crunching the snow softly beneath her feet._

_There was a house there; a small cottage built of stone and wood. Icicles had formed along the edge of the roof, but the inside of the house radiated with warmth. A plume of smoke rose from a small chimney, dancing and mingling with the winter air. Candles lit the windows in a yellow glow, and a shadow passed by the glass. A shadow; a fur cloak on his shoulder, curly hair tied back in a knot. The dusk was quiet and still, save for the rain of water from the great falls._

_“You can stay here,” Bran said. He stepped towards her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Why fight for people who wouldn’t fight for you?”_

_Daenerys said nothing. Her eyes had begun to burn with tears, and exhaustion weighed heavy over her. The vision had drained her; she could not fight much longer. Far beyond the vision, a great distance away, a dragon cried in pain._

_“Why live in pain? Why sacrifice your own happiness for those who don’t care?” His voice was somber. “Why should you suffer, while others live on?”_

_In truth, Daenerys felt as if she had known nothing but pain. Her life had been a series of betrayals and losses; heartache and loneliness. Bran was right; why should she suffer for those who are indifferent? She thought of the northerners, how cold and unwelcoming they were. She had come to save them. She had risked her dragon’s lives—her people’s lives—and still they shunned her._

_She stepped forward, letting Bran’s hand slide off her shoulder. From the chimney of the house radiated the smell of a fresh cooked supper; it filled her with warmth. Sadness washed over her._

_“It doesn’t have to be this way, Daenerys,” Bran said._

_No, it doesn’t, she thought; and it won’t. She could not take any more suffering; even the hard scales of a dragon’s egg cracked under too much pressure._

_Bran stood beside her once more. “People are dark, selfish, and cruel. They’re cold as ice; they will cover this world in winter if they’re allowed.”_

_Daenerys stood just before the door of the house, the heat from the fire radiating towards her. Inside, the man laughed; a warm, muffled chuckle, so familiar to her it took her breath. It filled her with the warmth of a thousand candles._

_How easy it would be, to stay. To take her dragons, and Jon, and ride south. She wanted to hang Tyrion as a traitor; wanted him to feel the betrayal that coursed through her veins. How much had she cared for him, how much she had trusted him, and he gave her naught but ash. She wanted Sansa to feel the coldness she had felt in Winterfell. She wanted every person in the north to feel as alienated as she once had. She would return their cities to the dirt, she decided; she would carry a flame across Westeros that burned with a fire stronger than the sun._

_Her hand reached the handle of the door, her fingers locking around the warm metal. Bran was right. It was only fair, that they felt what she had. All she had ever wanted was to help people, and all she got in return was suffering. Daenerys decided they would all feel what she had felt since birth; and all she felt was pain._

_Rūklon’s cries echoed from outside, and she hesitated, her fingers lifting slightly. How happy she had been, watching her baby dragons feed. The warmth of their scales matched the warmth in her heart. In her mind, she saw the eyes of a thousand slaves, set free to live the lives they had dreamed. She felt their touch; saw their smiles. She thought of Jorah, how strong and stable he was. He had betrayed her, he had lied to her, but forgiveness was warm. She loved him like a family she had never known. She thought of Missandei; her gentle fingers on the roots of Dany’s hair. She could hear her laughter now, sweet and soft like a bird in the breeze. Grey Worm… Ser Barristan… Irri… Daario… their faces lit like candles in a storm._

_It wasn’t all pain, no. Above the sorrow, lay a quilt of a thousand faces; mismatched fabric, stitched loosely together. Not as fine as silk, but warmer still._

_The wooden floors of the hut creaked as the shadow moved past the window once more._

_And Jon. Jon, who had lit a flame inside her that she had never known. Her whole life she had yearned for a sense of belonging; and she felt it in his arms. She loved him completely, and admired him even more so. All that he had given up for his people; for what he knew was right. He always knew what was right._

_She placed one hand on her stomach, where it had begun to swell. It radiated with all the warmth of a dragon’s egg._

_“No,” she said, turning to face Bran. The earth trembled below them as she spoke. “You’re wrong. You’ve always been_ wrong. _”_

_Her strength was back now, and it shook the vision fiercely. The house disappeared from in front of her; the waterfalls faded into darkness._

_Soon, the branches of the cave were coiled around her once more. In front of her, the great hallway stretched into darkness. The winds blew so fiercely, her hair whipped at her face. She ran, shielding her eyes from the storm._

_Bran appeared in front of her. “Stop fighting it, Daenerys,” he said._

_She pushed past him. Her legs grew weak beneath her, but she forced them to keep moving. The walls of the hallway creaked and groaned, seemingly shrinking around her. Her breath grew shallow, the cold air clenching at her throat._

_When she reached the door, she threw her shoulder into the solid wood. It hit back like stone. Rūklon’s cries grew louder, from just beyond the wood. Before she could try again, Bran grasped her wrist firmly in his hand._

_“You would run from me?” He said. “I made you what you are.”_

_She struggled against his grip, molten lava coursed in her veins._

_“You did not make me,” she hissed. “You can take my mind, take my power, take my dragons, and my throne; it is no different. My dragons do not give me my fire, nor my armies, nor my family name. I am the blood of the dragon,” She broke from his grasp. “I am Daenerys Stormborn; the fire is_ mine. _”_

_She turned from him, the walls quaking around her. She pressed the palms of her hands to the wood of the door. From deep inside her, a spark emerged. Beneath the skin of her fingers, embers swarmed the red wood. Soon, flames spread the length of the door. The wood crackled and fell; smoke as black as night engulfed the doorway._

_She stepped through._

+

When she awoke, she found her hands gripping Drogon’s scales, her knuckles turning white. Rūklon roared in pain, her white scales streaked in dark, red blood. She did not know which dragon was wounded more, for Meli’s scales were red as blood, regardless.

“ _Dany!_ ” Jon called to her, his voice strained over the winter storm. She turned to where he lay in the snow; a torch in the night. His eyes met her’s with a knowing that sunk her heart. 

“Do it,” he called, “You have to.” 

She shook her head. Tears had begun to spill over, they streaked down her cheeks in trails of ice. Her grip tightened on the dragon’s scales; heart pounding in her ears. She choked back a sob, tears clouding her vision. 

“ _Do it!_ ” He called once more, but his voice grew weak. Rūklon cried again, blood pouring from the dragons above her. If she waited any longer, the youngest dragon would die.

One word echoed in her mind. A word that had saved her, freed slaves, burned enemies; now hung like a storm above her head. It threatened on the edge of her lips; threatened to take everything from her. When she spoke, it was barely more than a whisper.

“Dracarys.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Moment of Silence-
> 
> Okay a couple things:
> 
> 1\. Sorry  
> 2\. I have about two parts left, but they're short so I'll post them at the same time. Thanks for sticking by this story and I'll see you at the end!


	19. Fire and Ice

The cup of milk Daenerys drank was sweetened with honey and warmed with fire, but it turned bitter in her mouth. Still she drank, in small sips at a time. Maester Tarly had warned her that she was not eating enough, that the baby needed strength, but she could not force herself an appetite. 

A blank scroll lay sprawled open on the table in front of her. She had wanted to send a raven, only to realize she had no one to address it to. The morning had been quiet, as they all had seemed to be, as of late. She couldn’t even count how many days it had been. Each day seemed to blend into the next; each night seemingly longer.

She had hardly noticed when Tyrion entered the room; the ex-hand was unnervingly quiet for once. The sight of him made her stomach turn, or perhaps it was the milk. 

He entered warily, slowly making his way towards the chair across from her. When he sat, he was silent. 

“I believe I owe you an apology,” he said, after a moment had passed. 

Dany could not bring herself to look at him. She could not bring herself to do much these days, besides sip at her milk and watch the city below. “What does it matter?” she asked, her voice flat. 

“I am sorry, Daenerys,” he said. His voice was somber and serious; rare for the typically insufferable man he was. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you, sorry I wasn’t there for you.” He looked down at his hands, clasped tightly in his lap. “And I’m sorry about Jon.”

The mention of his name made Dany queasy once more. She had tried desperately to finish her glass; now she was afraid she could not keep it down.

Tyrion continued. “I know how much you loved him. And he was my friend. He was a good man, truly. He was better than this world, better than us all-” 

_Yes he was better than us all,_ Dany thought, bitterly. _And yet you are here, and he is not._

She would not hear anymore. “Why are you here?” she asked him, not bothering to hide the resentment that poured out of her. 

“I hear you may leave,” Tyrion said. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “You have every reason to, I know. But I’m here to ask you to stay.”

She turned her face to him, her fingers tightening on the cup in her hands. “Why would I stay? What’s left for me here?” 

“Westeros is your home,” he said, “It always has been.” 

“Home?” she asked, her voice growing somber. “My whole life was spent trying to come back home, to King’s Landing.” She had convinced herself that taking back her family’s home would give her the sense of family she needed, but along the way she had lost the only family she had ever known. _Jorah. Missandei. Jo-_ she paused. Her mind hovered over the name, unable to let her thoughts form the word, for fear she would see his face. She shook her head softly. “Home is where your family is. I have no family.” 

“Neither do I,” he replied. 

Daenerys did not know what to say to that. Thankfully, a servant girl entered the room, carrying a tray of flagons. Her milk cup had almost been empty, and Daenerys sighed as the girl filled it to the brim once more. 

The girl crossed to Tyrion, offering to fill his glass with summer wine. He waved her off. “Just water, thank you,” he said.

When she was gone, Tyrion spoke again. “It won’t be easy,” he said, “But I can help you.” 

Dany laughed then; a flat, dry huff. “You’d have me make you another Hand of the Queen pin?” she asked, sarcastically. Her voice grew serious, and she leaned her elbows on the table in front of her. “No one wants me here, Tyrion. They think I’m mad. The kingdoms are at war because of me; Westeros is in pieces.”

“Which is exactly why you must stay,” he said. His voice had grown sharp. “We all made this mess, it’s our duty to clean it up. Westeros needs a leader, now more than ever. We’ve had our differences, to put it lightly, but I believed in you once,” his eyes were genuine. “I still do.” 

Daenerys sat back in her chair. The wood ached against her lower back, and she sighed. “No one will believe me,” she spoke quietly. 

“Maybe not,” he said. “I didn’t before, but I do now. I changed my mind when I learned the truth, they can too.” 

She did not know why he was being so kind to her, and it left her feeling uneasy. She pushed the full glass of milk away, for fear the smell of it might make her retch. The light of day shined bright on the city below the Red Keep, the sunlight danced across the warm colored rooftops. She felt a stranger here in this city that her family had built, but oddly enough, she did not know where else she would go.

“So I stay,” she said, hypothetically. “I as Queen, and you as Hand,” she paused, her eyes squinting slightly. “Why should I trust you? Why should you trust _me_? After all we’ve done to each other?” 

Tyrion paused. The cup of water swiveled in his hands in tiny waves. “A thousand words could not erase the past,” he said, “Words you once told Prince Areo.” 

She eyed him warily. 

He placed the cup down, twisting his fingers together. “You told him, that the people of Westeros have suffered far too long. And, that we can’t separate now, not if we’re to build the world the people deserve. Did you not? That was not Bran speaking, I know. That was you.” 

Daenerys sighed, turning away from his gaze. She could not think of a response to that, and exhaustion weighed on her.

“You can leave,” he said. “Fly back to Essos. Leave Westeros in ruin, what does it matter? What did we ever give you?” He leaned forward, placing a gentle hand on her own. “Or you can stay. Make it all mean something; finish what you came here to do.” 

Daenerys pulled her hand away. _Make it all mean something._ She thought of warm brown eyes, and her heart lurched. _Where did the red door lead?_ Her whole life she had yearned for it; a sense of home she never had. A home she had found in his arms. If Jon had been her red door, she had learned a hard truth: A person could not live forever beneath a doorway.

Dany saw things now as they were. Her head was clear—for the first time in as long as she could remember—but the clearing of the fog showed the truth of it all. Sometimes, when she closed her eyes, it all flashed across her vision. People screaming, flames bursting, a dagger in her heart. She gripped at the wood of the table, shoving the memories from her mind. At night she did not dream but one; a meadow of blue roses. For once she found solace in sleep, and for that she slept a great deal.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “I can’t rule Westeros, Tyrion. Not like this.” She struggled to keep her voice strong, but it trembled slightly still.

For a moment, his eyes were of pity, but he sat up straight in his chair. “Perhaps not,” he said, “Perhaps, your reign is over. Perhaps, you are not fit to rule after all,” He spoke playfully, but his voice grew serious. His smile fell and he paused, watching her carefully from across the wooden table. “But your child could be.” 

Dany’s eyes darted upwards. She was certain no one had known. She had barely begun to show, and regardless if she had, she kept to her chambers most days. Only Samwell Tarly had known the truth, and she had sworn the maester to secrecy. 

Tyrion noticed the shock on her face. “I would love to credit my intuition,” he said, “But Jon told me.” 

Daenerys felt as if she would retch after all. “He knew?” She asked quietly, her voice just above a whisper. 

“It seems Jon Snow knew a great deal more than he let on,” Tyrion nodded. “He wanted me to give you this.” He reached into the pocket of his doublet, and pulled out something small. He held it towards her, and she took it in her hands.

It was a dragon hair pin, one of her own. She had not seen it for years. She believed it to be lost to time, like so many of her things had been. Daenerys turned the pin in her hands, letting the light reflect off the shiny metal surface. There had once been three dragon heads, each facing outwards. Now, there were only two. In the place of the third, was the carefully carved head of a wolf. 

_He had known, he had known everything,_ Dany thought. _Of course he had._ For the first time that day, her stomach felt still. _He always knew what was right._

She sighed, grasping the metal tightly between her fingers. Daenerys felt defeated, and exhausted all the same, but something new hung in the air. Daenerys felt hope.

When she did not speak, Tyrion broke the silence. “In all my years, I have never seen a ruler as loved as you and Jon had been, in your own respects. How much would the people love the two of you combined? Who better to unite Westeros, than a child of the North _and_ South?” 

“It would be years before my child would be fit to rule a kingdom,” Daenerys protested, but the hope stirred inside her still.

“All the better,” Tyrion said, “It will take years for us to teach them how.”

_Make it all mean something._

“The people need hope,” Tyrion continued. “Give them that. Who carries hope, better than a child? Who better to restore the balance, than a child of Stark _and_ Targaryen? A child born of dragon and wolf? A child-” 

Daenerys felt the slight swell of her stomach; the warmth that bloomed from within. There was a fire there, unlike any she had ever felt. 

“A child of fire and ice,” Daenerys finished.

+

The sun felt warm on her cheeks, and on the groove of her stomach. It’s warmth shone through the silk dress she wore, beating down from above. She stood atop the steps of the Red Keep, relishing in the feel of the subtle breeze. Drogon soared overhead, his wingspan casting a massive shadow on the stones below. She had not seen him take flight since Meli had succumbed to his injuries; the dragon spent his days grieving out of her sight.

Now, he soared freely, slicing the warm winds with dark wings; Rūklon trailing close behind. Joy overwhelmed Dany then, as warm as the sun on her skin, as she watched her dragons soar. It was only the two of them left, but a family all the same.

Horses neighed at the foot of the steps as men readied wagons below. Sansa Stark was leaving King’s Landing, and Daenerys had come to see her off. Dany could think of a thousand things she would rather do, but she was to be queen until her child came of age, and a queen must remember her formalities. She would make things right across all kingdoms, and that included the North.

Thankfully, the Wardeness of the North could not meet her eyes as she climbed inside her litter, saving Dany from the conversation. Instead, it was Arya that greeted Dany at the top of the great steps. 

Daenerys tried to mask the shock on her face. “I had not known you were here,” she said. 

“Not for long,” Arya replied, “I’m leaving today.” 

Dany did not know what to say to the Stark girl. They had barely spoken before, and there had been no love in the words they had shared. 

“I wanted to say that I’m sorry,” Arya spoke.

She did not want to speak to Arya. She did not want to hear her words of pity. She did not want to look into those eyes that reminded her so much of Jon. But she must be the Queen. “You lost him too,” she spoke gracefully, all trace of distrust hidden from her face. 

“It’s not only that,” Arya said. 

Dany turned to her. It was then she noticed how red her eyes were. 

“I didn’t trust you, when you came to Winterfell,” Arya said. “But my brother did.” Her voice grew quiet. “And I should have trusted him.” 

_Yes, you should have,_ She wanted to say, but bitterness would never mend her relationship with the North. Daenerys wondered how things would have been different, had they trusted her from the start, but she shook the thought away. She could not look back now. The path behind her was crooked and dark, littered with skulls and ash. In front of her, was a meadow of bright summer flowers. 

They stood in silence for a moment, but Arya spoke again. She glanced down at the swell of Dany’s dress. “I look forward to meeting her,” she said. 

Dany gave her a glance. “How do you know it’s a girl?”

“Jon always wanted a daughter,” she smiled sadly. She left then; light footsteps near silent on the stone. Daenerys swallowed hard, blinking away tears that had formed in her eyes. She watched as the wagons disappeared behind the city walls. 

Grey Worm had appeared beside her, a statue in the sunlight. His face was cold and hard, but when he spoke, Daenerys could hear a certain warmth in his tone. “Say the word, my Queen,” he said, “And we will sail from this place. Back to Essos; Meereen or Volantis.”

“No,” she said, “Westeros is my home. I can’t run from this.”

He said nothing, but frowned slightly. 

She placed a hand on his arm, squeezing her fingers gently. “Will you stay with me?” she asked. 

He paused, thinking over her words. “I will stay with you always,” he said.

Dany turned once more to the city, vast and sprawling towards the horizon. Drogon and Rūklon soared above, chasing each other in clouds of black and white; the last two dragons. _So it will be_ , she thought. _Two dragons would have to make a family whole, and that will be enough._ She smiled at the wings in the sky, the sun beating down on her skin. _Two dragons... and the ghost of a wolf._


	20. Epilogue

\- EPILOGUE -

The wedding celebration had lasted the better half of a fortnight, and by the end, the great hall of Winterfell was ripe with wine and warm chatter. Sansa Stark had married a high lord; a political arrangement, nothing more.

Daenerys sat at the head of the great table,  
sipping a glass of mulled wine. The halls of Winterfell would forever feel cold to her, not just for the snow. No one paid her mind, but she did not care. She had come as a formality, her duty as queen. She came, so the North could meet the princess. 

The morning of the first day, Princess Rhaenna had silenced the hall as she entered. A child of only seven; she wore her finest dress of dark blue silk. The fur draped over her shoulders was as white as the snow, though she didn’t seem to mind the cold. A dragon and wolf pin held up long curls of silver hair. The northerners seemed to greet her with a warmth Daenerys had not expected, and it filled her heart to see the smiles she induced. 

It had been their first visit to Winterfell, one that filled Rhaenna with wonder. Daenerys had not shared in her excitement, however; this place held memories she’d rather not rehash.  
Still she sat, utterly silent at the head of the hall, the warmth of the fire on the back of her neck. 

She watched across the hall, where Rhaenna sat alongside the Prince of Dorne. The new Prince had been named after his father, and he was the spitting image of him too. His eyes and hair were matching brown, his smile wide and bright. 

“They make a good couple,” Sansa said, startling Daenerys. It might have been the first time they had spoken in all these years. If Dany felt resentment for the Wardeness of the North, she would not let it show. She smiled politely.

“She looks like Jon,” Sansa said.

Daenerys felt her smile fall just so, and she took a gulp of her wine. “She does,” she said, colder than she had hoped.

“I never said sorry,” she said, when no one near could hear them speak. “To you or Jon.” 

Daenerys wondered if she could excuse herself without appearing impolite, but she brushed the thought away. “It’s in the past,” she said.

“No, not for me,” Sansa spoke, her eyes were sad. “I never made things right with my brother, before he was gone forever. A mistake that will haunt me for the rest of my days. I want to make it right,” She glanced at Rhaenna, who was holding a lock of silver hair between her lips and nose, mocking an old man’s silver mustache. He chuckled warm and heartily, and kissed the top of her hand. 

Sansa turned to Dany, her eyes sad, but determined. “The north will follow Princess Rhaenna, as if she was our own, and she is. Wherever she goes, whatever she does, we are behind her.” 

Daenerys wanted to speak, but words seemed to escape her. For a moment, she smiled. Rhaenna’s voice rang over the hall, suddenly angry. She stormed out the great wooden doors, Prince Areo following close behind. 

“Excuse me for a moment,” Daenerys said as she stood, thankful for the chance to leave.

Outside, the yard was bright, with a soft flurry of snow in the air. Unsullied soldiers stood at each wall, but the rest was empty. She followed her daughter’s footsteps in the snow, where she found her alongside the young prince.

“ _Stop it, Areo!_ ” she yelled. “You’re _scaring_ me!” 

“It’s the truth, I heard it from the stable boy,” the prince said. 

“Go away,” she replied, “Go away _now,_ or I’ll have Rūklon eat you.” The white dragon roared overhead, matching her anger. 

“ _Rhaenna,_ ” Daenerys interrupted just as Areo ran back towards the hall. “We do not _threaten_ our friends.” She spoke sternly, but kneeled beside the young princess.

“Prince Areo’s _not_ my friend,” Rhaenna huffed. “He told me that Winterfell is haunted, and when we leave, the ghosts of old lords will follow us home. I told him to stop because he was scaring me, but he wouldn’t listen.” 

Daenerys held her daughter’s hands in her own. “Hush, sweetling,” she said, “It’s only a castle, that’s all. There are no ghosts.” 

Rhaenna sniffled slightly. “Tyrion says I’m to marry Areo when I come of age. I don’t want to marry him. I won’t.” 

Daenerys sighed, suddenly wary of outside ears. “Come,” she said as she stood. “I want to take you somewhere.”

+

Drogon landed first, his winds kicking up clouds of freshly fallen snow. Daenerys stepped forward, hardly noticing when the second dragon landed shortly thereafter. Her eyes were fixated on the great falls; streaks of water shone with the orange glow of twilight. Mist rose through the air, as white as the falling snow.

 

Alongside the falls, just under an overhang of rock, stood a lone statue. It was a man, carved of marbled stone atop a single pillar. His hair was tied back, and he clutched a long sword in his stone hands. A carved wolf stood firmly at his side. The northern land was near barren, save for a single bush of blue winter roses that had grown at the base of his feet. 

Daenerys turned back as Rhaenna slid down the back of Rūklon. “Come here, flower,” she said, extending a hand towards the young princess. She took it, and they walked to the statue together. 

“Is that father?” Rhaenna asked, her voice a soft ring in the cold air.

Dany nodded, her heart clenched tightly at the sight of the man before her. It was her first time seeing the carving, and it did not capture his warmth. The brow was the same, as well as the curl of his hair, but the eyes were blank and hard. They were nothing as warm as his had been, and a wave of sadness washed over her. She crouched beside Rhaenna, finding the eyes she longed for in the face of the young princess. 

“Areo is kind and sweet, he will make a good husband one day,” Daenerys said softly. “More than that, your marriage is promise of an alliance between us and Dorne, which we need.” She took her hand in her own. “I know it’s not fair, you should not have to face the brunt of my mistakes. But if you are to be queen one day, you must learn what it means to put the needs of other’s above your own.” 

She was playing with the silk of her dress, unable to meet her mother’s eyes. “What if I don’t want to queen?” she asked timidly. 

Daenerys took her daughter’s shoulders, turning her towards the statue. “Your father never wanted to be king. He didn’t want to rule either,” she started, “But he did what he had to do, because it was best for his people.” She turned back to Rhaenna, warm brown eyes met hers. “It’s never easy for people like us, to live the lives we must. But even when I felt doubt, your father always seemed to know what was right. I admired him for it.”

She wrapped her arms around the princess; a fire radiated from inside her. “Even now, when I feel lost, I ask myself what he would do,” she said. “You can too.” She cupped Rhaenna’s face in her hands, her skin soft with youth. “Whenever you need him, Flower, he’ll be right here. Whenever you feel lost, or doubt, all you need to do is come here, and he will be waiting.” 

In truth, Daenerys did not find her hope in the unfeeling stone of the statue. She found it in the eyes of the young princess, in her laugh, and her smile. But Rhaenna took comfort in her words. “Will he be here when I’m older? When I am to be queen?” she asked. 

Dany brushed a silver curl from her daughter’s face, tucking a blue rose behind her ear. _She is spring_ , she thought. _With the fierceness of a thunderstorm, and the warmth of the morning sun. Her heart is molten gold, but her skin as thick as dragon scales._

Daenerys smiled; her heart full, as if it had never been broken to start. “He’ll be here a thousand years.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so a couple things to wrap up this story:
> 
> 1\. There are a thousand fics with a very traditional happy ending, and I wanted to do something different. I know a lot of you aren’t happy about Jon, but we were promised bittersweet, so I wrote bittersweet! 
> 
> 2\. I was hoping to wrap up the storylines that felt open-ended after season 8, especially the mad king story line. I always wanted there to be a big plot twist regarding Robert’s Rebellion, or the three-eyed raven, so I thought why not write one for both?
> 
> 3\. I’ve left about a thousand hints as to how this story would end basically since the first chapter and I desperately want to know if anyone caught on, please let me know lol.
> 
> 4\. I want to talk about this story, so I’ll be answering all comments, leave me any questions you may have!!!
> 
> 5\. If you’re one of the people that have been following along, reading each chapter and telling me how much they hate it after every one, don’t bother leaving another rude comment here. I heard you the first time, and the second time... and the third time.
> 
> 6\. Thanks so much for reading this story and thanks for those who were kind to me, it’s my first time writing and first time on ao3, and your nice comments encouraged me to see it through! 
> 
> Let me know if I should write more, or what you’d like to see in the future! Byeee


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